


oak, broom, and meadowsweet

by nettlestingsoup



Series: to fly and to fall [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angels, Angst with a Happy Ending, I Promise Only the First Chapter is Super Dark, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, References to Torture, Soul Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nettlestingsoup/pseuds/nettlestingsoup
Summary: Woojin has never spent much time on Earth; more than he should have, perhaps, over the years, he and his friends exploring little moments of human culture when they could. But in all his centuries, Woojin has never met a human with magic in their veins. He's never met a human without a soul.Until Chan.Called down from Heaven and trapped underground, Woojin is given a task: make Chan a soul, so that he might be free to feel again, and live the life he deserves. But perhaps a soul isn't all Chan needs. Perhaps a little kindness in the aftermath, just to help him along. To show him that he can be forgiven, can be human again.And maybe, through music and magic and a feeling Woojin doesn't quite understand, Chan can help him learn to be a little human, too.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Kim Woojin
Series: to fly and to fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748986
Comments: 69
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have a lot to say, but I will try to be brief.
> 
> 1\. This series is the last OT9 work I'll be posting; I did consider leaving it to gather dust, but it's taken me eleven months to complete and I just... really wanted to share it. Only this first work features Woojin as a main character, and the subsequent works are focused on other characters. But everything after this will be OT8 content. Stan Stray Kids.
> 
> 2\. A good deal of the Graphic Descriptions of Violence applies to this first chapter, but please bear with me, because it gets lighter in Chapter Two. I have not written twelve chapters of gore.
> 
> 3\. Kudos and comments fuel me, so please say hi if you want! I'll say hi back, I promise <3
> 
> Update 21/10/2020: this work, along with my other ot9 works, will stay up! It was written in a different time, but I'm still very proud of it, and I don't want to let allegations that still aren't confirmed or refuted affect that. Thank you <3

Woojin had been here for days.

He had watched the sun and moon cycle overhead since he’d first awoken, each of them casting the barest scraps of light through the ground-level window of the basement in which he was held. He had tried climbing up once, to reach the sun and call out for help, but the walls were high and his crooked, dislocated wings a dead weight behind him, and he had fallen. His arm and his wings had broken against the concrete floor, and the sky had settled into darkness when he had awoken again.

He’d lost track of how long he’d been held captive after that.

Watching the bone of his arm set itself at an ugly angle as his body tried its best to knit itself back together, Woojin cursed his fast healing. Fresh bruises bloomed each day as the misplaced bone tore at the muscle, and the pain formed a jarring hum at the back of his mind that he could never quite seem to meditate away. His wings, perhaps, were more of a problem than his arm; they hung heavy from torn joints, the struts of bone healed so poorly that they were barely held together.

With a weary sigh, Woojin lay down in his fragile patch of sunlight, letting it warm his back. At least he had this, he thought. He was starved, and broken, and growing weaker by the day, but he had this small kindness. "Thank you," he whispered to the sky, and he thought he felt the warmth grow just a little.

The basement door creaked and Woojin glanced up, vision swimming as he moved a little too quickly. He wasn't sure why he looked. He knew who would be there. This was a daily interruption, a routine he wasn't sure would ever break.

"Are you awake?" The voice sounded close to where he lay, cold despite the warmth the accent lent it. Woojin wasn’t given time to reply before another question followed. "Will you help me?"

Woojin looked up, a little more slowly this time in consideration of his injuries, and met Chan’s eyes. He couldn't remember when he'd learned the man's name. It should allow Woojin to get some kind of read on him, feel the twists and turns his heart took. It hadn't, for some reason. Woojin hadn't been able to place why until the human had explained his predicament.

Chan didn't have a soul.

He'd lost it, he had told Woojin in his usual blank tone, given it away piece by broken piece until only scraps remained. And then those had been taken from him, too, by grief and loss and sorrow. So, he had kidnapped an angel; called him down with words written in lamb's blood and lavender oil, pulled him from the sky with a net of sinew and willow-bark thrown by stained, sticky hands. He had dragged Woojin home with no care for the injuries he had sustained, and left him in the basement. Woojin didn't remember most of that. He had simply woken up there, starved of light and song, with Chan asking him the same questions each day.

"I can't help you," he said every time. "There are divine laws in place that prevent me from weaving a soul." And every time, Chan would sit still beside him, eyes blank and dead as he nearly pulled his hair from his head until Woojin reached for his wrists and held them gently, doing all he could to stop Chan from hurting himself. Chan's skin was white as bone china against his own, cornflower veins running stark against it, so bright Woojin could almost imagine them bursting into flower through the backs of his hands and along his arms. Chan was getting thinner, he noticed, and the realisation had his resolve weakening. Could it be so wrong, to mend such a broken thing? To make someone whole?

Today followed the same pattern, Chan and Woojin kneeling side by side; Woojin held Chan's hands gently to his chest, Chan's forehead resting on his shoulder as the human breathed as though he were sobbing, no tears escaping. Woojin didn't think the soulless could cry.

"Let me go," he whispered, as he did every day. "I can't help you. Set me free."

" _No,_ " Chan said against his shoulder. The word was harsh, violence made voice, and Woojin flinched at the sound of it, setting off another wave of dizziness. He hadn't heard such emotion from Chan before, didn’t think he was capable of it; some last scrap of soul must have ignited, he thought, lighting up like a meteor before it burned away. "I didn't want to have to do this. I really didn't." Chan made to pull away, but Woojin held tight to his hands.

"What?" he asked, voice strong, eyes bright enough that Chan had to look away. "What are you going to do?" They must have made an odd tableau, he thought distantly. The angel with broken wings and burning eyes, clinging to the hands of the human with emptiness in every line of him.

"I'll make you help me," Chan said softly. Woojin could barely meet his eyes, terrified by the depths of shadow in them. It was like watching something shift beneath centuries of ice, ancient and waiting and fixated. He wrenched his hands from Woojin's, backing away as the angel reached for him. The movement made something in his broken arm burn, bone pressing close against nerve in ways it shouldn't.

"Chan," he pleaded, but the door was already shut, and he heard every lock sliding into place. All were enchanted, he had discovered early on. When he had first awoken and tried to open the door, he had burned his hand so badly it had taken more than a day to heal, the raw, blistered skin unwilling to peel away from the enchanted wood.

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Woojin let out a shuddering breath. What had he done? By refusing to help, what had he _done_? He wouldn't know for a while, he supposed. But the thought gnawed at him, itched at the broken feathers of his wings, and he knew as he crawled to his diminishing patch of sunlight that sleep would not come easily.

* * *

Woojin was awoken by all the locks clicking open, Chan’s voice a rough background as he muttered to someone to _stay still, stay quiet_. He scrambled to his feet, barely able to stand from the weakness in his limbs, tried on instinct to spread his wings and fell back to his knees from the pain that shot through his back. He thought he felt his kneecap crack; his bones were so very brittle, these days. The door opened as he knelt, supporting himself with one hand on the floor, his broken arm hanging limp and wrong at his side.

But he forgot the pain.

Because in the doorway stood Chan... and someone else.

Chan was holding the young man around his chest, arm pressed tight to his sternum, ignoring the way his breath shuddered and caught as Chan held a bright, ugly blade close to his neck. It was a kitchen knife, made for the butchering of meat and the like; it had not been designed for any work so delicate as the slitting of a throat, and Woojin could taste bile on the back of his tongue.

"Chan," he said slowly, eyes on the terrified boy. He was all cheekbones and sharp lines, staring at Woojin as though he were the horror, not the one behind him. Woojin considered how he must look; filthy, broken wings dragging behind him; ribs blotted in raw, ugly purple; bones pushing taut against his skin and eyes too big for hollow cheeks. Hardly angelic by any means.

Slowly, he reached out a hand. "Chan, let him go," he rasped. Chan shifted, fingers flexing around the handle of the knife, and the boy squeezed his eyes shut.

"Make me a soul," Chan ordered. "Make me a soul or he dies, Woojin. I'm not lying." He wasn't. Woojin could tell. There was a blank, unyielding honesty to him, as there always was. If Woojin didn't swear to weave Chan a new soul, this boy would not live to see another dawn. As quickly as he could, he considered the repercussions; he was in no way worthy of the creation of a soul. His punishment would be banishment, or even an end to his existence as an angel. He would never see the friends he had grown to consider family, or his home, again.

But the way the boy trembled as a line of blood beaded bright at his throat.

The ice and steel and horror in Chan's eyes.

 _To hell with the law_.

"I'll do it," he said. "Let him go and I swear to you I'll do it." Chan froze for a moment, knife close to the boy's Adam's apple. Perhaps he hadn't really expected this to work. Perhaps he'd expected to have to spill more than a few drops of blood to make his point.

"You will?" he asked. Woojin nodded, moving slowly so as not to startle Chan.

"There are things I'll need you to bring me. But I promise you, I will make you a new soul."

The knife clattered to the floor, Woojin and the boy both wincing at the sound, too bright and too loud in the basement. Chan acted as though he hadn't heard it, dragging the boy back through the door quickly enough that his feet slipped out from under him.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "To hear what you need."

"Wait!" Woojin called. Chan stopped, expression blank. "What's your name?" he asked the boy.

Without a knife at his throat, the boy appeared to be breathing more easily, but his voice was still barely audible. "Jeongin," he said hoarsely, eyes wide with a terror Woojin wished he could ease.

Woojin nodded slowly. "I'll know if he doesn't get out of here," he told Chan. "Now that I know his name, I'll know." Chan didn't answer, pulling Jeongin through the door and locking it behind him without another word.

Alone once more, Woojin let his head hang down. He knew what he needed to make a soul, so for now he would focus on Jeongin, feel the hummingbird beat of his heart as he made his way up the stairs. Eventually he felt the ghost of fresh air, the shine of starlight on his face. He held his focus a while longer, feeling Jeongin get further and further away. He was alive. He was safe. Woojin could relax.

Chan reappeared a little while later. He looked sickly, Woojin noticed; not as awful as Woojin himself did, but there was still a sparse look to him, as though he were stretched a little too thin, his hair and eyes unsettlingly dark against the pallor of his skin.

"What do you need?" he asked. The faintest hint of desperation in his voice pulled at Woojin's chest, and strengthened his resolve. He had to be doing the right thing. This couldn't be wrong.

"The flowers of oak, broom, and meadowsweet," he said slowly. "And a spinning wheel." Silence followed his words.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"If you're lying to me-"

"I'm not," Woojin said softly. "I wouldn't."

Another silence, gentler this time. "Fine," Chan said eventually. "I'll bring you your flowers."

Woojin gritted his teeth as Chan turned away. "I have a request, first."

Chan looked back over his shoulder. Woojin had almost expected him to be frowning, but his expression was as blank as ever. "What do you want?"

"I can't... I can't spin thread with my arm like this. I need you to re-break it so it'll heal properly." He didn't like to ask; he knew it would hurt more than it had the first time, especially if Chan didn't break it cleanly. "This spot, here. It's where it broke last time, but it never healed right."

Chan stared at him for a long moment before he approached, kneeling close to examine Woojin's arm. "Here?" he said, fingertips settling over the spot where the bone bulged, ugly and wrong, under the skin of his arm. Woojin nodded.

And then he screamed.

Chan had given him no warning, no countdown, simply grasped his arm either side of the break and _pushed_. He had felt the two ends of the bones grind against each other, shards splintering into the soft tissue around it, blood vessels bursting and bleeding into the hollow spaces. Tears were running down his face as Chan met his eyes.

"Was that the right place?" he asked. Woojin nodded. Even as the pain still echoed into his chest, he could feel the bone weaving itself back together, nerve cells reaching out and forming their old pathways.

"Yes," he said, a little breathlessly. "That was it."

"Good," Chan said. Woojin thought he was imagining any trace of sympathy in his voice. From time to time Chan would express hints of something human, and Woojin would forget exactly what he was. Soulless. Empty.

But not for long.

* * *

Chan insisted on staying with Woojin during the spinning process. It had taken him three days to collect enough flowers; Woojin had spent most of that time asleep, unable to find the energy to stay awake, and from his perspective it was as though the vast piles of flowers had appeared out of nowhere. Their scent was dizzying, and Woojin worked as quickly as he could, singing softly while he spun to make the thread something more than simply strands of crushed petals.

He could feel Chan's eyes on him as the pile of thread grew, its colour shifting from muted beige to bright white as Woojin spun. Eventually, after Woojin collapsed halfway across the room with an armful of meadowsweet, he began to help, moving flowers closer to Woojin as the piles began to diminish. He never spoke, letting the rattle of the spinning wheel and Woojin’s laboured breathing fill the space; Woojin could feel his strength leaving him, hands shaking almost constantly, and he wondered if he could convince Chan to play him some music. Just enough to keep him going. One glance at Chan’s expression and he cast the thought aside. That would never happen.

He could keep himself alive until the work was done. That was all he had to do.

"How did you lose your soul?" he asked as another wave of exhaustion hit him. He just needed to distract himself. He could stay awake, then, ignore the weakness of his limbs and the throb of pain from his wing-joints that threatened to pull him away.

"I told you. I gave it away."

"To whom?"

"People I loved. People who didn't love me as much as I thought."

"Tell me about them," Woojin said softly. It didn’t matter what Chan said. He just needed to stay awake.

"They were all I had," Chan said. There was no wistfulness in the words, just a statement of fact. "They were suffering, and I found out how to take it away. I know a little about magic."

"That's how you knew how to find me?"

"Yes. And how I knew how to take their pain away. The ritual was to patch a little of your soul onto someone else's, give them strength. It was supposed to be temporary."

"But they never gave it back to you?"

"They left. I didn't have anyone, then."

"You have me now." Woojin didn't know what made him say it. It was a ridiculous sentiment. He would leave, after all this was over, hide from the heavens that would hunt him for committing this crime. And besides, Chan had _kidnapped_ him. He had kept him caged, starved him to the brink of collapse, offered him no kindness; how could Woojin say, after all that, that he was a friend to him?

But he was an angel, wasn't he? This was how he was supposed to be. To treat all with grace, with kindness. To forgive. It wasn't his place to judge. Chan had suffered for his kindness, and now he simply wanted to be himself again. There was no shame in that. Woojin could forgive him.

"How much longer will it take?" Chan asked, and the moment was broken. Woojin glanced around. Three piles of flowers remained. One, he would leave for the final stages of the process. The other two would be woven into thread.

"Another day," he replied. "The rest of the thread won't take me long. It's simple, after that."

"All right," Chan said, getting to his feet. He headed for the door before hesitating, sweeping the remaining flowers closer to Woojin. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Woojin sighed. It would be a long night, with shaking hands and blurring eyes and pain, always pain. But it was almost over.

* * *

The next day, the final stages began. Woojin was pulling feathers from his wings when Chan arrived, hands shaking so badly he could barely grasp them. They were dirty and brittle, the barbs splitting apart from lack of preening. He could barely find enough that were suitable, and he held them as though they would fall apart at any moment. This would work. It had to work, despite his fading strength.

The thread he had spun lay in a delicate pile, giving off a faint luminescence in the dim light of the basement. Woojin reached for it, began threading it slowly around the first feather. He traced looping patterns, securing the feather well, only stopping when the light from the thread began to flow into the shaft of it. Gently, he arranged the next feather beside it, and continued.

Chan watched as he worked. Woojin would have liked to say that his expression was hopeful, but he didn't think Chan was capable of that. Fixated was perhaps a better word; for weeks, or months, this was the only thing he had wanted, and it was happening before his eyes. Woojin wove in a third and fourth feather, curving them around to form a circle. The delicate work was making his vision blur and he wondered, distantly, if he would die once this was done. Chan had obviously researched angels. If he cared, he would probably know how to take care of one. But would he, even with a soul? This was a soul made in darkness, feathers taken from broken wings, weaving loose from shaking hands and blurring eyes. Who knew what Chan would be with a soul like this?

Woojin tied off the final feather, linking the pattern back to the first. The crown glowed. Only one more thing to do.

Slowly, he used the last of the thread to weave the remaining flowers into the circlet. The oak and broom glowed gold, the meadowsweet silver and soft as thistledown. Doing his best to keep his hands steady, Woojin tied off the last thread. His fears were unfounded, he realised as the glow of it brightened. There was gentleness in this soul; it would restore Chan to who he had been before, with no new darkness taking root in him.

"That's a soul?" Chan asked in the silence. The glow of the crown cast strange shadows across him, setting his eyes alight. He was beautiful, Woojin thought, as the heroes of old might have been; hollow eyes and full lips and the icy set of his jaw.

"It is," he replied softly. "Come closer." Chan stepped forwards, kneeling as though he were about to be knighted. Gently, Woojin placed the crown atop his dark curls, the glow of the meadowsweet casting the strands to marble. He looked like a statue, waiting in the dark of a museum for sunlight to scrape just a little more of it away. Woojin leaned closer, pressed his lips softly to Chan's forehead.

" _Flore,_ " he whispered. _Bloom_.

In the quiet that followed, he heard Chan gasp, and he smiled weakly. It had worked. He leaned back, watched as Chan looked up at him with wide eyes. There was a light in them now that hadn't been there before. They were soft, and afraid, and full of wonder. They were _human_.

They were the last thing Woojin saw before he slid from his chair, unconscious, landing heavily on his broken wing. He didn't feel the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A considerably softer chapter today, with a considerably softer Chan. Next update Saturday!

The next few days passed in a blur; Woojin assumed it was days, at any rate. The room always seemed sunlit when he awoke, but he could have been sleeping for days or hours or only minutes at a time as far as he knew. Chan was always there, often sitting in a chair beside him. Sometimes he was asleep in it, curled at an awkward angle; at others, he watched, brows pulled low in a frown as the angel drifted in and out of consciousness. Woojin thought he heard him crying, once. He had wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but the weakness in his limbs and the fog in his head prevented him from doing so. Despite the soft music Chan had been playing in the background, Woojin didn't even think he had the strength to lift himself up into a sitting position, so he let exhaustion take him again.

Once, the pain in his shoulders from his dislocated wings prevented him from sleeping and he lay awake, staring half-focused at the wall as the torn muscles in his back tried desperately to heal themselves, tried to wrench bone back into place and failed. Chan sat beside him, the picture of torment as he soothed the angel as best he could. Nothing he did stopped Woojin crying softly, tears soaking the pillow.

"I'm sorry," Woojin heard him whisper, over and over. "Oh god, I'm so sorry."

Woojin didn't have the energy to reply, so he simply waited for the pain to fade enough for him to sleep.

* * *

When Woojin finally came back to himself, it was to the sound of song. It was quiet, a woman singing softly to a guitar, but he stirred faintly towards it like a parched man to water. He felt the shift of a mattress beneath him, and frowned, trying to understand. Was he in a bed?

"Oh! Are you- are you awake?" Woojin forced his eyes open. That was Chan's voice, but not the way he'd heard it before. It was expressive, hopeful but tinged with the heaviness of despair. He was crouching, supporting himself with one hand on the headboard of the bed, his face level with Woojin's. He looked  _ worried _ . His eyes were dark with it, lips slightly parted, strong brows lifted in the middle. Even with the dark circles under his eyes, the unsettling prominence of his cheekbones, he was beautiful. Woojin reached out slowly to touch his cheek, smiling when Chan's eyes widened in surprise and some quieter, sadder expression flitted across his face.

"How do you feel?" the human asked. The words were heavy with guilt, as though he hated that he had to ask.

"Mm," Woojin hummed softly. He couldn't think of what else to say. "Can you turn the music up?"

Woojin watched as Chan jolted a little, becoming more animated. "Ah! Sure. Is it ok? I didn't know what angels like, I know you like... eat music but I didn't really know if it all feels the same, or whether it tastes different or-"

"This is fine," Woojin murmured. "I get bored of choral music." He was feeling tired already, still not up to his full strength; his limbs felt heavy, and the bones of his wrist and hand were still far too prominent. Chan watched as he ran a hand gently over his ribs, feeling the ugly jut of them beneath his skin. He looked almost tearful at the sight.

"I'm sorry," he said. The weight was back in his voice and his eyes. Woojin could see it swallowing him. "I know that isn't enough, with everything I've done, but I am  _ so  _ sorry." He laughed bitterly, the sound coming out as more of a sob. "I suppose I'll go to Hell for that."

"No," Woojin said softly, wishing he had the energy to say more, to reassure him properly.

"But I nearly killed you, I- You were dying. You were dying and I  _ watched _ . I kidnapped a kid, I was going to-" He broke off, words choked by horror, and Woojin reached for his hand.

"No sin will rest upon this new soul."

"What? But after everything I-"

"You've suffered enough. Enjoy being free of that." Woojin closed his eyes. "I need to rest more. I'll wake again soon."

"Ok," he heard Chan say nervously, and he felt the gentleness of a sheet settling over his back, just below the spot where his wings began. Ever so softly, the music fading away, sleep claimed him.

* * *

The second time Woojin awoke, he felt strong enough to take a proper look around. Pushing himself onto his knees, he winced a little at the pain in his back; his wings were spread out either side of the double bed he had been placed in, supported on chairs and piles of books. He was still in the basement, he noticed, frowning up at the high window and down at the mattress. There hadn't been a bed here before. Had Chan carried it down?

Slowly, he turned, wincing again as his wings swept off their supports. He waited for the pain, the pull of their weight against too-distant joints, but it didn't come. Cautiously, he tried to lift them, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he could. He couldn't fold them - the struts must still be broken - but his second shoulder blades were intact, and he had recovered enough muscle strength in his back and shoulders to lift them so that they wouldn't knock everything over when he moved.

Had Chan relocated his wings, he wondered? They had both been torn clean out of their sockets when he tried to brace himself against a tree as Chan had pulled him out of the sky, and had been useless ever since. He didn't remember Chan fixing them. Perhaps it had happened while he was unconscious, too weak to wake even from the pain.

Lifting and lowering his wings gently a few times to stretch the stiff muscles, Woojin looked around. The basement was now sparsely furnished, looking a little more liveable than it had before. A speaker rested on a small table with two chairs; one had the back removed, making it more of a stool, presumably to be comfortable with wings. Peering over the foot of the bed, Woojin found Chan asleep on a thin mattress, covered by a sleeping bag. He looked uncomfortable, but the faces he made in his sleep had Woojin a little captivated. For a length of time he couldn't quantify, he had seen only the barest hints of expression cross that face; it was like seeing a statue come to life. He watched for a while before turning his attention to the speaker. A mobile phone rested beside it, announcing the artist on the screen. Woojin didn't know who it was, but she had a pretty voice, so he let it play.

As he listened, he considered what he had done. He had made a soul. It was considered the highest honour to be permitted to do so, and he was definitely not among those worthy. Woojin knew he would be punished, somehow. And yet, he found he couldn't bring himself to regret it; to see Chan so emotive, to know he was the kind of person who would ask if the music was right, would support his broken wings, would somehow carry a double bed down a flight of stairs only to allow Woojin the whole thing made it all worth it. But he had broken the law. In the best case scenario, he would be banished for a time; the worst, he would be hunted down. Woojin sighed. He couldn't even fly. There was a chance he never would again.

"Woojin?" Chan's voice, thick with sleep, startled him, and he jumped a little when his head appeared over the foot of the bed.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Woojin said. Chan shook his head.

"It's been about three hours. I never really sleep longer than that," he admitted. His tone was nervous and a little formal, as though he wasn’t sure how to act in such a situation.

"It might help if you slept on an actual bed," Woojin suggested gently. Chan coughed awkwardly. "How did you get this down here?"

"I took it apart and reassembled it," Chan said quietly. "I wasn't going to make you sleep on the floor. You weren't well."

"And neither are you," Woojin said kindly. "You look like a strong wind could blow you over. The bed's big enough for both of us, if you don't mind sleeping under a wing."

Chan shifted, and Woojin watched as the shadows flooded back into his expression and the hunch of his shoulders. "I don't..." he began quietly, but appeared to change his mind about what to say. "I'm fine. I don't mind the floor. I don't need much sleep. I'm... sort of hungry, though. Can I... can I get food?"

Woojin's eyes widened. "Have you not been eating?" The question came out louder than he intended and Chan shrank back a little.

"I- yes, but I ran out of food the day before yesterday. I didn't want to leave you alone," he said timidly.

Woojin made a gentle noise of distress. "Please, Chan. You need to eat. I'll be fine on my own."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Chan nodded slowly, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "Chan?" Woojin called, and he turned so suddenly he almost fell. "Thank you. For fixing my wings."

Chan flushed, shaking his head. "I- I didn't know whether it was right. To do it while you were asleep." His gaze fell to the floor. "I'm sorry. For everything. And I'm sorry I couldn't fix the breaks."

"That's fine, Chan. You've done so much to help me already."

Chan's eyes went hollow, and he looked away. "Sure," he said. Woojin ached at the bitterness in his voice. "I'll be back soon."

He left without another word.

* * *

Woojin missed Chan's return; he had fallen asleep again, but he was feeling almost like himself when he awoke to the sound of cutlery against a plate. The music had changed in the meantime, and Woojin sleepily wandered over to the table to note the name of the artist.  _ Ed Sheeran _ , the screen read, and Chan jumped in surprise as Woojin gave an appreciative hum.

"What do you think of the music?" he asked nervously, carefully setting down his fork.

Woojin smiled. "I like it. He has a lovely voice."

And Chan just _lit up_. It was the only way Woojin could describe it. His eyes narrowed in a smile and his cheeks dimpled, and he seemed to shine a little. "I know! He's one of my favourite artists, his lyrics are just... they make things feel right, you know? I bought all his albums." He stopped abruptly, realising he had broken his polite mask, and ducked his head. "Sorry. I just like him a lot."

"I see why," Woojin said, smiling. Chan stared for a moment, frozen, before he kept talking.

"Yeah," he said more slowly. "He's a great artist. I'm glad you like it too. But you can put anything you like on, really. My phone's not locked."

"Why don't you show me what music you like?" Woojin asked. Chan's eyes widened in surprise. It was a little endearing, Woojin thought, how amazed he was that an angel would be interested in his taste in music.

"Yeah, ok," Chan said hesitantly. "You might like this one?"

He spent the next three hours flitting through his phone, playing Woojin sections of songs, his apparent nervousness fading as Woojin asked him questions about the music and the artists. Chan's taste was varied, Woojin found, and a great many of the songs were in languages he didn't seem to speak.

"It's not about language," he explained when Woojin asked. "It's about the feeling behind it, and how all the pieces of the song fit together. Wait, it's probably- here, listen to this one. You'll probably feel it more with this one." Woojin watched him as he spoke, his faint smile and the light in his eyes. It was so different. He had been handsome before, Woojin had acknowledged, but in some cold, unfeeling way. But there was something compelling now in the gentle shifts of his expression, the sincerity and softness in his eyes, the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. He really was beautiful, Woojin realised, when he spoke of something he loved. He was  _ human _ .

"I like this one," he said quietly once Chan had finished explaining the song.

Chan beamed, and then seemed to collect himself, biting his lip and only allowing himself a soft smile. Woojin wished he wouldn't. "Nice," he said. "I'll add it."

Woojin frowned. "Add it to what?"

"Oh, I-" Chan glanced up, meeting his eyes. "I started a playlist. Of the songs you've said you liked. So you can find them easily if you want to. I figured you'd stay here until you're healed, so..." He was staring at Woojin now, eyes hesitant and a little fearful. Woojin broke into a smile and he visibly relaxed, smiling back tentatively.

"Thank you," Woojin said. "That's kind of you." Chan ducked his head a little, trying to hide a smile.

"I'm just glad you like them," he said. "It's kind of awkward sharing music with someone who doesn't have the same taste."

"Is it?" Woojin asked. "I wouldn't know."

"Don't angels share music?" Chan asked carefully.

"Not really," Woojin said with a smile. "I think I mentioned, it's mostly choral music, aside from the old songs. A friend of mine once stole a saxophone, but none of us were very good at playing it."

Chan laughed, and the sound warmed Woojin's chest. It was so good to see him relaxed, maybe even happy, even if it were only for a moment. "Did any of you ask a human to teach you how to play?"

Woojin snorted. "No. We stole his saxophone, we weren't about to ask him for a tutorial."

"You don't sound like great angels," Chan said hesitantly.

"We weren't," Woojin agreed. "But it was worth it. The odd misstep. It gave us hints of how you all lived, throughout the years. The things you made, the art, the music. Thank you for showing it to me in more detail."

Chan smiled, and Woojin decided he could very easily stare at that smile for hours. "I'm glad some things humans have done are worth appreciating," he said lightly. "I think music is one of the few things we've made that hasn't done any damage to the rest of the world."

"Humans have done some beautiful things," Woojin responded thoughtfully. "Admittedly, a great deal of it has been cruel, or unthinking, and you lack foresight as a species but... when people decide to document their experiences, through writing or art or music... you make the most wonderful things."

"Does it make up for it?" Chan asked softly. "All the beauty. Does it make up for everything we've done?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly," Chan repeated, and the song played on behind his silence. "I think this one might be your sort of thing," he said quietly, scrolling through for a different artist. Woojin examined his expression, from the serious set of his brows to the slight part of his lips. He felt the urge to ask more questions, talk more and more just to see every possible shift of those features. But there was time for that, he decided, so for now he would listen to the music, and let Chan forget all that had passed for a while.

* * *

Later that night, Woojin lay face down on the bed as Chan gently returned his wings to their supports, limiting the pain from the breaks. His expression was blank as a cloudless sky as he did so, and it made Woojin's skin crawl a little.

"Could you smile for me?" he asked softly. "Or frown, I don't mind, just... I don't like seeing you so cold." The request made him feel a little strange. Vulnerable, he supposed. Chan's brow creased in confusion, and Woojin almost felt guilty at how quickly he relaxed.

"Does it... remind you? Of before?" Chan asked quietly. He didn't seem to want to make eye contact.

"Sorry," Wooijn replied in a murmur.

"You're not the one who has to be sorry," Chan told him. "Goodnight, Woojin."

"Goodnight, Chan," Woojin whispered, and he heard the click of a light switch before the room turned dark, the moonlight casting bars across the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healing takes time, for both Chan and Woojin; I probably should have tagged this slow burn.

Woojin's back ached when he awoke the next morning, the tension from having his wings elevated for such a sustained length of time straining the muscles. Gritting his teeth, he lifted them carefully so that he could sit up.

Chan was sitting up on his mattress, eyes still closed, dark curls piled messily on top of one another.

"Good morning," Woojin said.

Chan turned to face him, still not opening his eyes. "Mmf," he said, and let his head fall back to the pillow. Woojin held back a laugh. Chan obviously wasn't one for early starts.

Feeling considerably better than he had done even yesterday, Woojin checked himself over as he waited for Chan to wake up properly. Every bruise along his torso had healed, every scratch he had gained from being dragged over the ground. He no longer felt the nauseating pressure of bone when he breathed. It was only his wings that remained, crooked and stained with dirt and patches of dried blood around the breaks. Woojin sighed. He didn't think they'd ever looked this bad.

He spent an hour pulling out the moulted feathers he could reach, sighing over the ones he couldn't. By the time he was done, Chan was awake, watching him cautiously.

Woojin met his eyes, hesitating. "Can I ask you to do something for me? I understand if you refuse."

Chan's face fell. "Ok," he said quietly, voice shaking a little.

Woojin closed his eyes, not particularly wanting to see Chan’s reaction. "Can you rebreak my wings? So they can heal properly. Like you did with my arm. I can't clean them properly by myself when they're like this." Silence followed his words, and he forced himself to open his eyes again to see Chan looking as though he might vomit. All the blood had drained from his face as he stared at Woojin's mangled wings, and he was visibly shaking.

"I'm- I can't, Woojin, I- I can't. I'm sorry but I can't  _ break your bones _ . Putting them back in their sockets was- I've hurt you enough. I know it's for the best but I- no. I'm sorry." His eyes were shining with tears. Woojin shifted, leaning towards him, but Chan quickly got to his feet and Woojin paused, hands held out in a gesture of peace.

"I'm sorry I asked it of you," he said across the space. "I'll find a way to fix them. I promise."

"Is there anything else I can do? To help you." Chan was almost pleading, desperate to do anything he could to make up for his past actions. Woojin lowered his hands, glancing over his shoulder at his dusty, rumpled wings.

"You could clean them. My wings. I can't reach, since I can't fold them. But they need oil, and... something like a paintbrush, I suppose, to make sure the barbs lie straight. And there are still some moulted feathers that need to come out."

Chan nodded, sniffling a little as though he were about to cry. "I can do that," he said quietly.

"Thank you," Woojin said, as sincerely as he could. "That will help me a great deal." Chan gave a faint smile.

"Is there anything else you need? I know I... I didn't take care of you. You- you suffered because of me. I want to make it right."

"Is this residence spelled?" Woojin asked. He was almost certain it was. Given the severity of his crime, he would have thought angels would come for him within a day of his committing it. Chan nodded shyly. "What did you use?"

"I- I'll get the books. I can't really explain the spells well," Chan told him, disappearing up the stairs. He appeared a moment later, arms laden with books. Two looked old, pages falling out of worn bindings, while the other was remarkably new; the edges were crisp and the spine barely creased.

"It was protection from demons from this one but I kind of... modified it to fit angels too? Then there's Sharp's general for making somewhere difficult to find, and a more modern one to protect from stalking."

"You... modified a spell?" Woojin asked incredulously.

"Yeah... A lot of the ingredients like wormwood and holy water were demon specific so I just swapped them out for other things that felt right."

Woojin almost laughed. The spell was obviously working, but he hadn't met a human so in tune with the divine in centuries. No wonder Chan had summoned him so easily.

"Could you strengthen the spells?" he asked. "Just for extra security. Things will have changed now that I'm a little stronger," he explained. It wasn't quite a lie. His increased strength would weaken the spells, but Chan didn't know about his fear of being found.

"Ok," Chan said, but made no move. He bit his lip. Sensing he had more to say, Woojin waited. "Did you know?" he asked eventually. "Did you know it would end like this?" Woojin hesitated. "Please don't lie."

"No," Woojin said. "I knew that I would die if I did not complete the work. And for a while... I didn't think I had the strength to do so."

Chan made a faint, choked sound, and Woojin looked up to see him staring blankly at the floor, tears dripping off his chin and sliding down his neck.

"Don't cry," Woojin murmured, reaching to wipe them away. Chan jerked his head away from the contact, stepping backwards so that he was out of Woojin's reach.

"I'm sorry, I- I need to go,” he mumbled, heading for the door and up the stairs. Woojin listened to the echo of his sobs as he went and wished fervently that he could follow; the enchantments had been taken off the door, he could tell, but his wings could never fit through such a narrow opening unfolded. He didn't even remember how Chan had managed to get him down here in the first place with one of his wings already broken from his first fall. He supposed Chan hadn't cared about damaging them further.

Carefully, he lay back down, cheek pressed against the pillow. Perhaps he shouldn't have told the truth. He doubted he could understand the difficulty of Chan's situation. after all. He had lost his soul, become nothing more than a creature of desperation and violence, and now he had to come to terms with every cruelty he had committed. Woojin thought back to the way he had spoken of music, agreed to clean Woojin's wings without a second thought. He seemed so gentle. He had known, when he held that soul in his hands, that it was destined for something beautiful, but he hadn't considered the suffering it would go through first.

Woojin sighed, closing his eyes. He had told himself, when he had decided to make a soul, that there was nothing wrong with fixing something broken. The soul had been a step, he decided, but there was still a long way to go. Chan could be fixed. Woojin could fix him. But it would take time.

* * *

Woojin slept through the night and most of the next day, the energy his body was exerting to heal his wings enough to exhaust him. He stumbled out of bed just as the light was beginning to fade from the small window and Chan, seated at the small table with a bowl of what looked like stew, almost jumped to his feet.

"Hey, don't- you shouldn't be up," he mumbled, gently guiding Woojin back to the bed. He seemed reluctant to touch him, encouraging him to move with the occasional press of his palms against Woojin's skin that ended in him pulling away as though the angel had burned him.

"I'm ok, Chan. I need to stretch my legs." Woojin wrapped his fingers around Chan's wrist and he made a faint sound of dissent, pulling gently against Woojin's grip.

"Don't- Woojin, let go, you shouldn't-"

Woojin loosened his grip a little but didn't let Chan pull away. "Shouldn't what?" he asked gently.

Chan's shoulders dropped and he turned his face away. Woojin could see shame in every line of his profile, self disgust in every twitch of his hand where Woojin held it.  "You shouldn't touch me," he said, voice shaking. "If you don't need to. I know I- I know I have to touch your wings to clean them, but you shouldn't-" He broke off, teeth gritted and eyes shining with tears.

For a long moment, Woojin didn't know what to say. He didn't even know where to  _ begin _ . In the end, he touched Chan's jaw softly, noting the way he froze at the touch, and lifted Chan's chin so that he could look him in the eye.  "Would you shut yourself off completely?" he asked gently. "Deny yourself any contact or kindness? That would cause you so much pain, Chan."

Chan closed his eyes, and Woojin could see him shaking. "Stop," he whispered. "You don't-"

"Please don't tell me I don't understand," Woojin pleaded. "I have watched humanity for centuries. I know all the ways you can wear yourselves and each other down and I am  _ begging _ you, Chan, don't. I forgive you for everything that happened before. You do  _ not  _ need to punish yourself for that. Please."

Chan didn't reply, so Woojin carefully pulled him closer, little by little, until he was holding him. He didn't return the embrace, but Woojin could feel the cool of his tears against his neck, and held him tighter.

"Promise me that you won't try to do that to yourself," Woojin whispered to him. "Promise me you won't hurt yourself like that, Chan."

A long moment passed before Chan's voice, light and trembling as a songbird, broke the silence. "I promise," he said, and Woojin felt the hesitation in his movements as he slowly wrapped his arms around Woojin's waist.

"That's it," Woojin said gently. "It's ok." The two of them stood that way for a while, Chan crying softly into Woojin's shoulder as the angel tried to convey every last piece of love and forgiveness he had into the embrace. Eventually, Chan pulled away, avoiding Woojin's eyes.

"I should get some sleep," he mumbled. Woojin nodded, letting his palm settle on Chan's shoulder briefly as he moved back.

“That's a good idea," he agreed. "Most things seem better after a little rest."

"Yeah," came Chan's almost inaudible reply, and Woojin watched as he went to switch off the light, the sunset illuminating him as he settled onto his makeshift bed on the floor. Woojin hated the sight of him there, curled under a sleeping bag, but he doubted he could convince him to sleep somewhere more comfortable. Woojin sighed. Small steps.

Despite the amount he had slept already, Woojin felt his eyelids drooping as soon as he settled into bed, exhaustion weighing heavy on his back. He heard Chan shift in his sleeping bag, the sound of the polyester rustling amplified by the dark, and his heart ached.

But even with his exhaustion weighing heavy on him, sleep didn't come.

* * *

Later that night, as Woojin lay awake still, he heard Chan's voice. "Woojin?" he asked, the word distant in the dark.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Would it... would it be easier for you? If I fixed your wings?"

Woojin hesitated. He didn't want to lie, but nor did he want to force Chan into doing something he was obviously uncomfortable with.  "I would sleep better," he said eventually, "if I could fold them."

Silence followed his words. "Do you want me to do it now?" Chan asked. His voice was small and shaking, and it made Woojin's heart twist in his chest.

"You don't have to," he said gently.

"You said you'd sleep better."

"I would. But I don't mind waiting."

Chan hesitated, and the silence sounded as though he were steeling himself. "I'll do it," Woojin heard him say, and a moment later the artificial light flickered on, illuminating the both of them. Chan looked drawn and pale as he crossed the room from the door, standing behind Woojin's outstretched wings.

"You don't have to use your hands," Woojin told him softly. "You can use something heavy, if you think it'll be easier." Chan went even paler, skin white as snow clouds.

"No, it's- it's ok," he whispered. "Is it here?" He placed his palm gently on the top of Woojin's wing where it bent at an odd angle, and Woojin tried not to hiss in pain. He nodded, and Chan exhaled slowly.

"Ok," he muttered, more to himself than Woojin. "Just push, right?"

"Right."

"Do you want a countdown?"

"If you can give me one."

Chan nodded, settling his hands a little. "Ok," he said, and it sounded as though he were trying to make his voice as strong as possible. "Three. Two. One." The bone snapped back into place, and Woojin fell forward onto his hands, his other wing lifting on instinct as though to carry him away. He had forgotten how much that  _ hurt _ .

"Woojin?" Chan's panicked voice came to him through the haze of pain and adrenaline, and he lifted his head to smile weakly.

"Thank you," he said, although it was barely audible. His wing would take a little longer to heal than his arm had, but he could feel it stitching itself back together already. Chan had done a good job. "Did you study medicine?" he asked, trying to distract Chan from worrying. "You did that perfectly."

"No- I mean, biology, yes, but- I just... feel what's right with things sometimes. The way they should be." He ducked his head. "My grandmother was a witch," he admitted. "She used to say I inherited more of it than my dad, somehow."

"That would explain how you managed to do all those soul rituals," Woojin agreed, trying to hide how uneven his breathing had become. "Most humans can't do that sort of thing."

"Oh. I didn't think it was anything particularly special... I just thought they worked because I tried so hard."

Woojin shifted, sitting back on his heels so that he could look at Chan properly.  "Trust me, Chan. You're quite extraordinary." Chan blushed then, the delicate pink of roses, and avoided Woojin's eyes.

"Do you want me to do the other one?" he mumbled.

"Yes, thank you. As long as you're willing." Chan nodded, circling the bed to Woojin's other wing. He gave the same countdown, snapped the twisted bones with the same precision. There had been two breaks in that wing, and Woojin lost consciousness for a moment, finding himself lying face down on the bed with Chan frantically calling his name.

"I'm all right," he assured him. "It hurt. But I can feel them healing now."

"Do you want painkillers? Do they work on angels?"

Woojin shook his head slowly. "No, I'm fine. The pain fades every second." He looked up at Chan and smiled, reaching out to touch his hair. "Go back to sleep. I'll be perfectly well by morning."

And before Chan could reply, Woojin had slipped away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter ended up as just... one scene? But it's a long scene, and things finally start to shift into something new.

True to his promise, Woojin's wings were fully healed when he awoke. They were a little stiff, but he stretched carefully until he could fold them easily, delighting in the feeling of the fading ache. He wished he could go outside, feel the wind catch underneath him as he flew, but he knew it wasn't possible; he needed to stay hidden, at least for now. Chan hadn't strengthened the spells on the house yet, and Woojin could feel, faintly, as though through cobwebs, that he was being sought out. It scared him a little. He didn't know what would happen if he were found. Doing his best to shake off the thought, he stretched his wings out again. He was safe here, as long as he didn’t leave. As long as Chan agreed to let him stay.

Chan had promised to clean his wings, Woojin remembered. Technically, Woojin was fully capable of doing it himself now that he could reach his feathers, but it didn't sit well with him to deprive Chan of something he seemed to see as atonement. Besides, he and his friends had cleaned each other's wings when they were younger; it was common for angels to bond that way.

Mostly, it had been Minho who had cleaned Woojin’s wings. Hyunjin and Seungmin, close as they were, had refused to let anyone but the other near their feathers, the habit lasting through the centuries. As far as he was aware, they still did it.

Woojin smiled at the memory of the day he had dared Minho to steal one of Seungmin's primaries. Hyunjin had almost thrown a tantrum, and the two of them had disappeared for three whole days. It had been funny at first, but as the third dawn had broken he and Minho had felt guilty enough that they did nothing but wait, staring out across the sky until they decided to seek their friends out. When they did, it was as though nothing had ever happened.

Sighing to himself, Woojin wondered what his three companions were doing now. Similar mischief, he hoped. It was no wonder the four of them had never gained any particularly high favour back home. He supposed he never would, now.

He’d ask if he could stay when Chan cleaned his wings, he decided. It seemed as good a time as any.

Woojin crossed to the table, searching through Chan's phone for music. The room was far easier to navigate with working wings, he found; the ceiling was high, and he could arc them up into the empty space instead of keeping them at his back. Scrolling through the playlist Chan had made for him, he settled on something slow and a little sad, wanting the feeling of peace that came along with that kind of gentle melancholy. He sang along to the first few bars, stopping with a smile when he turned to see Chan sitting up in his makeshift bed, staring at him in some sleepy kind of wonder.

"Are you all right?" Woojin asked.

Chan nodded. "You're just sort of beautiful," he said blearily. His eyes widened a moment later as he realised what he'd said, and Woojin laughed as he grew increasingly flustered, trying to find some way to excuse his words.

"Thank you for the compliment, Chan," Woojin said kindly, and Chan laughed, giving a flicker of a sheepish smile before he looked away. Woojin wished the moment had lasted longer. It was good to see him smiling.

"I'm glad your wings have healed. Do you- do you still need help cleaning them?" Chan seemed hesitant to ask, as though he feared that Woojin had suddenly changed his mind overnight and would be disgusted at the prospect.

Woojin nodded. "I'd be grateful if you'd help," he said. "They're still a little too stiff to curve around properly, and I might have a hard time reaching them." He wondered, briefly, if that was the first lie he had ever told.

"Well, since you can get your wings through the door now I guess you could take a proper bath?" Chan suggested. "Not that you smell or anything but it's... dusty in here, and I thought maybe it would be nice for you. I'd help with your wings afterwards, of course, not while you were...  _ in  _ the bath..."

Woojin watched him turn red. This was better than the day before, the horror and self-hatred he had seen in Chan's eyes. It would come back, he thought, but for now there was some reprieve.

"That would be nice," he agreed once Chan had embarrassed himself into silence yet again. It was hard to resist the urge to tease him, but Woojin thought Chan might curl up into a ball and disappear if he did. "Could you show me the way to the bathroom, please?" he prompted, and Chan's head shot up.

"Ah! Yes. Sure. It's, uh. It's this way." He led Woojin up two flights of stairs - he had to duck to fit his wings through the doorway - and into a clean, tiled room with a bath at one end. The room wasn't wide enough for him to fully spread either wing, but he supposed he'd move back downstairs to let Chan clean them. He watched as Chan explained how to use the taps, showed him the cupboard of scented soaps and shampoos he could use.

"Are you going to be comfortable?" he asked nervously. "I mean..." he gestured to Woojin's wings.

"I'll be fine. I'll sit this way with my wings hanging over the side," he explained. Chan nodded.

"Ok! I'll... leave you to it, then? Oh! I think I have some pyjamas that might fit you, I'll um... I'll leave them right outside the door. I'll be downstairs, ok?" Woojin nodded and Chan disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Woojin let the water run warm over his hand. He considered the bubbles, but realised he would probably need more than one bath just to get rid of all the dirt. He would put something in the next one.

He undressed, sinking slowly into the clear water and watching the dust and grime swirl off him. The sides of the bath were high, and it took him a moment to adjust his wings to a comfortable level; he ended up kneeling, wings hooked over the rim of the bathtub, The water quickly turned brown, and he ended up running two more baths simply to feel clean. The amount of dirt that came out of his hair was absurd, but after almost three hours Woojin finally felt something like normal.

Chan had left him some clothes outside the door as promised; the trousers were only a little too short, and he folded the t-shirt and left it on a shelf. Wings tended to make shirts somewhat impractical.

Chan was sitting at the table reading when he arrived downstairs. A few brushes and a small bottle of lavender oil lay on the table beside him, neatly lined up beside one another. He closed the book when he heard Woojin's footsteps, revealing a brightly coloured bird on the cover.

"What are you reading?" Woojin asked. Chan flushed.

"A book on ornithology," he admitted. "There's a chapter on how birds clean their feathers, I thought- I thought it might be useful. I want to do this right." Woojin couldn't help but smile at that.

"You're so kind," he said softly, and Chan shook his head. "You are. It would do you good to see it."

"I wasn't kind to you before," Chan whispered.

"You were desperate, Chan, and you had no means of controlling it. And now you're helping me. It's as simple as that." He smiled. "Is it alright if I sit down for this? It may take a while."

Chan hesitated. "Are you sure you still want me to do this?" Woojin's heart sank. He was still full of so much doubt in himself.

"Yes.” he insisted gently. “I trust you."

"...Ok," Chan said. "Can you spread your wings for me?" Woojin did as he asked, and Chan moved his chair to sit behind the very tip of his left wing. "So I put oil on each feather and use the brush to spread it down, right?"

"Exactly," Woojin reassured him. "I'll tell you if something feels wrong, don't worry." He watched as Chan stared at his wing. "It's alright," Woojin reassured him.

"I just... they're beautiful. It feels like I don't deserve to touch them," Chan mumbled.

"We've been through this, Chan," Woojin said gently.

"Ok." Chan let out a long breath. "Ok." Carefully, he applied the barest drop of oil to the first feather, running the wide, soft brush down to spread the oil across the barbs and pull the dirt away. "Is that ok?" he asked nervously, and Woojin nodded. Slowly, Chan worked his way across Woojin's left wing, stopping occasionally to clean the brush of dirt or let Woojin flutter his wings. The air was soon thick with the scent of lavender, and Woojin felt better than he had done in weeks. He sighed, long and content, and Chan glanced up.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Mm. It feels nice," Woojin replied. He didn't know how to explain it. "It's a little like someone brushing your hair, I suppose. It feels... cleansing. And companionable."

Chan laughed a little. "It's been two hours and you haven't said a word."

Woojin smiled. "I've been relaxed. But knowing you're there is nice. Knowing that you're helping." He predicted Chan's blush before it rose. "You blush so easily," he teased. "I wonder what colour you'd go if you were truly embarrassed."

Chan's grin spread, and Woojin couldn't help but stare. He had such a pretty smile. "You should have seen me when my friend let slip that I was the one who'd left a Valentine's Day note in one of the other boy's lockers. We were only ten at the time and I was  _ mortified _ ." His smile faded, and Woojin watched his expression shift towards something more pensive. "It's... it's not true, is it? That being gay is..." He couldn't seem to finish the sentence, and the silence stretched.

"A sin?" Woojin finished quietly. "No. Not at all. To love is a beautiful thing, regardless of who it blooms between."

Chan smiled softly as he ran the brush down another feather. "I'm glad," he said. The moment settled, and Woojin inhaled a little. It felt like the right moment to ask.

"Would it be possible for me to stay here a little while?" he asked.

Chan looked surprised. "Don't you want to go home?"

"I-" Woojin hesitated. Perhaps the truth would be best, here. "I'm not sure I can. What I did for you... it was against the law. I was never given the right to create a soul, and therefore I doubt I'll be welcome back there."

Silence.

Woojin turned to see Chan slumped in his chair, staring at the feathers before him. The heaviness had returned to him; it was like watching a man drown, to see Chan that soaked in guilt. "Chan," he said softly. "I don't regret it. To see you happy makes everything worth it."

Without a word, Chan sat back upright and continued cleaning Woojin's wing. His expression was blank, movements mechanical, and a shudder went through Woojin at the reminder of the darker days that had passed in this room. "Chan, don't. Don't look like that." Gently, he folded in his wing and stood, crouching before Chan to meet his eyes. He tried to look away, but Woojin caught his jaw and held it there carefully.

"Chan." His voice was gentle, but he could already see tears forming in Chan's eyes. "I'd do the same again. If I had the choice, I would choose to save you again."

"Because I tortured you or because I threatened someone barely out of their teens?" Chan asked bitterly. Woojin leaned in to press their foreheads together, trying to convey as much empathy as he could, to make Chan see all the kindness Woojin could see in him.

"Don't do that to yourself," he whispered. "I would have helped you anyway. I had almost decided to. I couldn't leave you the way you were." Chan said nothing, simply closed his eyes to stop his tears, and Woojin ran his thumbs gently over his cheekbones. "I forgive you for all of that. I'll say it as many times as you need me to. If I could choose again, I would choose  _ you _ ." He pulled back slowly, watched Chan open his eyes. He had lovely eyes; dark and soft as a charcoal drawing. They were so very haunted, so full of fear and guilt and pain, and Woojin wanted nothing more than to take it all away.

"Of course you can stay," Chan said eventually, voice hoarse. "As long as you need."

Woojin touched his cheek softly. "Thank you, Chan."

Chan ducked his head a little in response, gesturing to the chair. "You can sit back down," he said quietly. "I'm nearly done with this wing, I think." Woojin did as he asked, spreading his wings again and feeling Chan's gentle hands on his feathers. He was working faster now, and after barely another hour every feather was clean and neat, and the light had faded from the high window.

"We should rest," he suggested. "The other wing will wait until tomorrow."

"Ok," Chan said quietly, rising and heading for the stairs without so much as a glance in his direction.

"Chan?"

"Hm?"

"Don't sleep on the floor. I know you don't think you deserve comfort, but I promise you that isn't true." Chan met his gaze, unsure and exposed. "The bed is big enough for two, Chan. I insist."

"...Ok," Chan said uncertainly. "I need to shower but I- I'll be back soon."

Woojin picked up the book on ornithology while he waited, flitting through the pages to examine the diagrams of powder down and feather types. His left wing was impossibly cleaner than his right, shining a little in the dim light. Chan had done well; he had worked carefully, gently parting the top surface of feathers to work on those beneath, and it felt better than it had in a long while. Woojin would have to make sure he knew.

Folding his wings, Woojin settled on the bed and waited for Chan; he intended to stay awake long enough to ensure that the human didn't simply choose to sleep on the floor. But he was happy, and the waft of lavender from the oil on his wing was soporific, and it took only moments for him to fall asleep.

He woke briefly when the mattress shifted under the weight of another body, and he smiled to himself. "Goodnight, Woojin," he heard Chan whisper, and without a second thought Woojin unfolded a wing and wrapped it protectively over him before sleep took hold of him again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Woojin is very gay but just... doesn't know...
> 
> The Mabinogion: a book of medieval Welsh folktales and legends, which I admit I haven't yet read in full.  
> Hagstone: a stone with a hole bored through the middle by water; also known as adderstones, they're used as protective or healing amulets or to see spirits of other realms, such as Fae.
> 
> Next update Monday!

Woojin awoke to the feeling of Chan's breath against his shoulder; he had rolled closer in his sleep, still tucked safely under Woojin's wing. He looked more peaceful than Woojin had ever seen him, and he held his breath as he watched Chan's eyelashes flutter as he wandered in some dreamscape. Woojin wondered if he'd ever tire of seeing Chan's expressions shift as he slept. Did all humans sleep this way, telling stories through the shape of their mouth, the curves of their brows? He didn’t think anyone could match Chan in their intricacies.

He watched until Chan's expression settled, carefully folding in his wing and getting to his feet. He would have to ask Chan where he kept his books, he thought. It would be nice to read in the delicate light of dawn.

"Woojin?" Chan's voice was thick with sleep, and Woojin turned to see him squinting, unable to force his eyes open. "'s too early. Back to bed." He promptly collapsed back onto the pillows, instantly falling back into sleep. Woojin laughed softly, but settled himself carefully next to Chan on the bed, spreading his wing over him as he had before. A few more hours of sleep couldn't hurt.

* * *

Chan barely spoke whilst cleaning Woojin's other wing. The two of them had slept for another three hours, and Woojin had awoken to find Chan's face tucked into his neck. He had found it endearing, but Chan had turned a startling shade of crimson when he opened his eyes to see Woojin's skin millimetres from his nose and refused to say a word apart from many mumbled apologies.

"You really don't have to feel so guilty," Woojin said into the lavender-scented quiet. "I didn't mind."

Chan blushed again. "I was... I don't know. It was inappropriate. I told you to  _ come back to bed _ ." He seemed truly mortified.

"I told you, I didn't mind," Woojin said gently.

"You're an angel,” Chan pointed out. “You don't seem to mind anything."

Woojin shook his head. "No, I mind some things. I just think you're sweet." He received only silence from Chan in response, and he decided not to push the subject.

"How did you know?" Chan asked as he shifted his chair closer in order to work on the next set of feathers. "How to make a soul, I mean. If you're not allowed."

"I thought everyone knew," Woojin said. "It slipped into your myths, after all."

"What? Where?"

"Have you read the Mabinogion? You seem like the type."

Chan laughed a little, and the sound warmed Woojin's chest. "I haven't, actually. Always meant to."

"It's in the story of Blodeuwedd," Woojin explained. "It was said by the goddess Arianrhod that Lleu Llaw Gyffes would never have a human wife, so his uncles made him a wife of the flowers of oak, broom, and meadowsweet."

"It sounds like a beautiful story," Chan mused, brushing oil gently over Woojin's feathers. He was working faster today, more confident in his movements.

"It's rather sad, to be honest," Woojin murmured.

"Tell it to me?" Chan asked softly. The hesitance was back in his tone, as though he thought he were pushing a boundary in asking for something so small and simple as a story.

"All right. Don't say I didn't warn you about it being sad, though." As Chan continued to work his way along Woojin's wing, the angel began to tell the tale; he spoke of Arianrhod's curse, of the despair of Lleu's uncles Math and Gwydion, the making of Blodeuwedd herself from flowers to be his wife. Chan listened quietly as Woojin told him of the love that bloomed between Blodeuwedd and Gronw Pebyr as soon as the two laid eyes upon each other and their conspiracy to murder Lleu so that they might be together. He told of all the ways Lleu proclaimed he could not be killed, his trust in his wife that he would demonstrate to her the exact way his life could be taken, and the spear thrown by Gronw that struck him. By the time he spoke of Gwydion and Math nursing Lleu back to health and storming Blodeuwedd and Gronw's castle, Chan was almost at his shoulder. Woojin tried not to shiver at the soft touch of breath against his skin as he told Chan how Gwydion had turned Blodeuwedd into an owl that she may never show her face in daylight.

"You're right," Chan said after the silence had stretched for a moment. "It is a sad story." He was cleaning the feathers at the very base of Woojin's wings now, and the occasional brush of his hands against Woojin's bare ribs was making the hairs on his arms rise. It was strange; this reaction to Chan's touch was new. Perhaps it was the fact that Chan had initiated this, that Woojin was the passive force in their contact for once. It was progress, that Chan no longer seemed to fear being struck down for something so simple as this.

"There," Chan said after a moment, his breath a caress against the point where Woojin's shoulder met his neck. "I think that's done. Does it feel better?" Woojin flexed his wings with a sigh, feeling the air run smoothly over each clean feather.

"So much better. Thank you."

"Thank you for telling me the story," Chan responded.

"I enjoyed it," Woojin said. "I used to tell stories to my friends a great deal back home." He smiled softly, feeling Chan's curiosity permeate the space between them. But he didn't feel like answering questions just now. "I've been meaning to ask, do you have many books here? I'd like to read a little, if you do."

Chan almost jumped from his chair, catching it before it clattered to the floor as a result of his haste. "Yes! I do. I'm so sorry, I didn't really think that you might be bored, I just- sorry. Follow me?" Woojin followed, smiling, as Chan hurried up the stairs. It really was endearing, how eager he was to help. Not all humans were so kind. Woojin had seen plenty of atrocities committed over the years without so much as an iota of remorse, but Chan seemed so desperate to make things right. Woojin couldn't help but feel a little proud of the soul he had made.

"What's on the ground floor?" Woojin asked as they passed it by yet again, carrying on up the second flight of stairs.

"Oh, that's- remember how I said my grandmother was a witch? That was her shop. I sort of inherited it. I ran it for a while, but it's been closed because of... everything."

Woojin only hummed in response, following Chan through the flat. Just as there were questions he didn't want to answer yet, he didn't think it would do any good to push Chan on subjects he seemed reluctant to speak of.

Judging by the bed-sized rectangle of floorboards unbleached by sunlight, the room Woojin had been guided to was Chan's bedroom. Photos of sunny days and smiling faces rested on the bedside table, along with a few books and an empty mug. One wall was completely covered with bookshelves; on the other hung a mirror, wooden frame ancient and heavy with anachronistic gilt. Woojin examined his reflection, listening to Chan chatter as he hovered awkwardly in front of the masses of books.

"They're not... they're not really organised?" Chan said sheepishly. "But I've got some science stuff, and a lot of sci-fi, and bits of fantasy... Harry Potter, obviously. And Lord of the Rings. You might like that?"

"I'll try it," Woojin offered.

Chan faltered.  "You don't even know what it's about," he said. It was almost teasing, and Woojin thought that was a small victory.

"You like it," Woojin said simply. "And I enjoyed your taste in music, so."

Chan laughed. "That doesn't seem like the best logic."

Woojin shrugged, smiling. "I don't suppose angels are marketed as being particularly logical in modern media, are they?"

"Nah, I guess not," Chan admitted. "More kind of stuck up and dramatic."

"That would apply to a few," Woojin muttered, and Chan laughed even louder.

"That's not very gracious of you," he teased.

Woojin grinned. "No, I don't suppose it is."

"You were looking at yourself in the mirror, too," Chan pointed out, still smiling. "Isn't that pride, or vanity?"

"Probably," Woojin admitted through his laughter. "But we don't really have mirrors back home. I forget what I look like, sometimes." He turned back to the mirror, examining the angle of his jaw and the tone of his skin; it was darker than Chan's, glowing in the sunlight that filtered in. His eyes creased a little at the edges, he noticed, and his teeth were just pointed enough to seem unusual. He caught sight of Chan's reflection watching him; their eyes met in the silver of the glass, and Woojin felt his breath catch a little at the depths of colour in Chan's irises, the shine of them as his gaze fluttered over Woojin.

"I think I said it before," Chan mumbled, turning back to the bookshelves. "You're sort of beautiful." Somehow, Woojin didn't quite know what to say. He had thanked Chan the last time he had said it, but it didn't quite seem like enough now.  "Anyway," Chan said quickly, pulling a book from the shelf. "Here's the first one in the trilogy. I don't know how fast you read, but uh... I guess see if you enjoy this one first?"

Woojin took it with a smile. "I'm sure I will," he said, and Chan looked as though he were fighting back a grin.

"Great," he said. "I guess you can... you can come up here any time you want if you want more books or to... look in the mirror."

Woojin laughed and he felt Chan's eyes on him, watching with that strange wonderment again. It made something flutter in his chest, the same sensation as when Chan's fingertips had brushed his ribs when he cleaned his wings, when he had told him he was beautiful. As he followed Chan back downstairs, he touched his sternum lightly, wondering if whatever this was could be felt beneath his fingertips. But there was only the smoothness of his skin, and the beat of his heart beneath it.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent in a kind of golden, hazy lethargy, Chan's playlist running gently in the background as Woojin lay on the bed reading and Chan daydreamed beside him. Chan was right; he did like the book a great deal. Even with all its darkness, its shadows of war and change and death, there was a softness to it. The songs of Tom Bombadil, the sweet hopefulness of Samwise; the story was a testament to hope, and to beauty, and their ability to prevail. He closed the first book after three hours, kneeling to stretch his arms above his head before he went to collect the second. Turning to stretch his back, he caught Chan staring, and threw him a smile. Chan blushed.

"Your... your wings," he said quickly. "You have two sets of shoulder blades, right?"

Woojin nodded. "Mm," he confirmed as he stretched in the other direction.

"Can I look? At how they move, I mean."

"Sure. Do you want me to move my wings?"

"If that's ok?" Chan said tentatively. Woojin hummed in response, spreading his wings back carefully so that he didn't hit Chan. He watched as Chan ducked underneath one, sitting directly behind him. Slowly, he moved his wings through a typical flight cycle, curving them through the still air over and over so that Chan could watch the shift of the bones beneath his skin. He jolted a little when he felt Chan's hand against his back, but kept moving once he realised Chan simply wanted to feel the motion, the adduction and abduction of the muscles there. When Chan moved away, a part of Woojin wanted to lean back into the touch, feel Chan's palm against his skin again. He shook off the thought. His mind had been running along strange paths today.

Chan came back into his peripheral vision as he ducked under Woojin's wing again, grinning in delight.

"They're amazing!" he said. "I didn't think they'd have the same range of vertical motion as your arms do."

"You said you studied biology; you’re interested in anatomy aren't you?" Woojin asked, wanting to make this joy last longer; it delighted him to see Chan so animated.

"Yeah! I was heading towards an anatomy focus at uni before I took on the shop. It was where I met my friends."

"The ones you...?" Woojin wasn't sure how to finish the sentence, but Chan seemed to know what he meant.

"Yeah," he said, tone bleak. "Those friends."

"Maybe you should spend less time with me," Woojin suggested. "Go out, meet some better people. Make new friends."

Chan shrugged. "I guess. I'm happy here with you, though," he said. The words were soft and sweet, gentle as nectar, and Woojin was suddenly so very aware of the beating of his own heart. Why did it affect him that much, he wondered, simply to hear that Chan was happy? Perhaps he was glad that Chan no longer associated him with misery and guilt.

"How did you find the book?" Chan asked, interrupting his musings.

"I loved it," Woojin said, watching Chan's smile grow even wider. He reached out to gently poke one of his dimples, laughing when Chan pulled back and hid his face in a pillow. "Cute," he said through his laughter, and watched the blush rise up the back of Chan's neck.

Leaving him lying there, Woojin headed up the stairs to collect the next book in the trilogy. It really would be good for Chan to make some new friends, he thought. He deserved to be surrounded by good people, and as pleasant as he found Chan's attention, Woojin didn't like to think that he was keeping him trapped. It was something he hadn't considered, Chan moving on with his life. There was no reason he shouldn't; he had a soul, he had a future. Woojin himself had realised that the soul he had made was meant for something wonderful. He shouldn't stay much longer, he decided. He would hide here for a little longer, just until he had a plan, and then leave Chan to live his life with not even a hint of the divine to disturb him. The thought made Woojin's chest ache; it was a hollow, desperate feeling, and he gripped the banister as a support. What was wrong with him? Was it loneliness he feared so vehemently? He had never stayed in the human world so long before this; perhaps this sudden despair was some kind of side effect, a gradual loss of his link to divinity. Woojin sighed, continuing slowly up the stairs. He would surely find out soon enough.

* * *

Chan disappeared early the next morning renewing the spells on the house as he had promised to. It wasn't until the late afternoon that he returned to the basement to perform the last of the rituals. He looked a little drained, brow damp with sweat, breathing heavy, and there was something of an aura about him; a halo of power and tension that was almost electric.

"Are you all right?" Woojin asked, and Chan gave a smile that  _ glowed.  _ It took Woojin's breath from him utterly. Was that how all humans looked when they did magic, he wondered? Chan had said his grandmother was a witch; had the days of old been full of figures like this, bright and magnetic, drawing people in until their adoration turned to fear and the pyres were lit?

"I'm fine!" Chan answered brightly, and Woojin snapped out of his thoughts of witches and fire. "Magic gets me like this. It's... strenuous, I guess. But in a good way. Like dancing."

"You look..." Woojin swallowed. The electricity sparking off Chan's smile was making his head fog, his heart thundering in his chest. "You look good," he managed. It didn't do him justice. Chan looked like lightning, like bright embers crawling over wood, like static burning into the back of Woojin's eyes. He looked  _ devastating _ .

Chan laughed, and the sound felt like a physical pressure against his skin. What would it feel like, Woojin found himself wondering, if he were to touch Chan now? Would it burn, that strange inner light cutting through skin and bone, or would that power hum through him, set his blood alight? The thought was so intense that he almost stood, almost reached out a hand, but Woojin shook it off hurriedly. Magic was a strange, unpredictable thing, and should be left alone where possible, regardless of the yearning, desperate itch to feel Chan's skin beneath his fingertips.

"Thanks," Chan said, and Woojin remembered, vaguely, that he had given him a compliment. "This shouldn't take long, but there's a good chance I'll just pass out afterwards."

"Thank you for the warning." Chan shot him another brief, burning smile before pacing the edges of the room, laying out dried petals and salt, along with something that smelled suspiciously like blood. Woojin tried not to think about it. He watched as Chan made trails from the borders of the room, linking together and forming symbols of powder and dried leaves. As the final lines came together, colour seemed to seep out of the petals at the walls, leaching up into the paint to form words in a language Woojin had long forgotten. Whispers rose throughout the room, building to the point where they pushed into Woojin's bones and made them ache, shutting out light as they grew into something more than sound.

In the centre of it all, utterly calm, still bright as a beacon, stood Chan. He held his hand out, palm to the wall, a hagstone suspended from his third finger on a piece of cotton. Woojin couldn't look away, watched him turn ninety degrees at a time, eyes shut tight and sweat running down his temples and his back, soaking into his hair and shirt.

He turned to face the final wall, and everything went silent. The colour faded from the walls, running back down into the petals, and the symbols on the floor dispelled as though blown by a breeze. Chan swayed, and Woojin only just leapt up in time to catch him.

Gently, Woojin carried him to the bed. His glow was fading, slowly, although the weight of him in Woojin's arms still sent sparks through his skin. Chan gave a gentle sigh when the mattress settled beneath him, but didn't wake. He had been warned of this, Woojin remembered. There was no need to panic.

Sitting carefully beside Chan, Woojin picked up his book and tried to continue reading. He had barely managed a paragraph before he found himself watching Chan with a frown, focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest. Gently, he stood, heading to the bathroom and returning with a towel. Sweat still glistened on Chan's brow and neck, and Woojin wiped it away as unobtrusively as he could, the occasional spark of static jumping between his skin and the cloth. Woojin felt a little better after that, but he still couldn’t manage to divert his attention.

Every time Woojin thought he understood Chan, something new appeared. Chan, who had given away his soul to repair the ones he loved, who could stay awake for days on end to take care of an angel but couldn't stand to be woken in the morning, who spoke about music like it held the answer to every question, who understood science and magic at the same time. Woojin wondered if there was anything he couldn't do. He doubted it.

Woojin sighed, giving up on reading and turning out the lights. He curled close to Chan, reassured by the weight and warmth of him, the odd jolt of electricity still cutting through the air between them, and waited for sleep to claim him too.

* * *

Chan slept for almost seventeen hours. Woojin stayed beside him the whole time, fussing and worrying and almost collapsing with relief at every exhausted murmur Chan gave. Was this how it had been before, after he had passed out from exhaustion and starvation? Had Chan felt this panicked, this aware of his every breath? Woojin hoped not, but he thought he might have done.

With a sigh, he drew his chair up to Chan's side of the bed, folding his arms on the mattress and laying his head there. Was Chan dreaming, he wondered? Of magic, of lightning and rose petals, or of the inane intricacies of daily life? Chan didn't seem the type to have such bland dreams, he thought. Maybe he even dreamed of angels. Of Woojin. The thought set something fluttering in him, something restless and delicate and fragile. Why did it make him feel that way? Chan had appeared in his dreams once or twice, his laugh or his smile in lavender fields under stars, the brush of his skin as intangible as moonlight; but something about Chan's subconscious affording him the same honour set him alight a little.

Settling his head on his arms, Woojin wondered about why that might be. Did Chan make him feel the way he did because Woojin had crafted his soul? Was there a connection there? He couldn't think of any other explanation. Every smile, every word, every faint brush of contact made Woojin's soul  _ sing _ .

Chan murmured, shifting a little, and Woojin lost his train of thought as he reached out in his sleep, hand settling barely a millimetre from his own. Woojin froze for a moment before he closed the distance, letting his fingertips brush against Chan's before he took his hand. Something in him settled at the touch, and he let himself drift into sleep.

When Woojin awoke, the first thing he saw were Chan's eyes, staring at him with a softness he couldn't quite name. Their hands were still linked, and neither of them moved to pull away.

"Morning," Chan said.

"I'm not sure it is," Woojin told him delicately. "You slept for a good while."

Chan gave a sheepish smile. "Yeah, doing that much magic... it kind of tires me out, I guess."

"You're well, though?" Woojin asked. Chan squeezed his hand, a gesture of comfort.

"I'm fine." He frowned. "Hungry, though. I'm getting food." Woojin moved so that he could swing his legs out of bed, keeping their hands linked until the last possible moment. The emptiness left against his palm as Chan headed up the stairs was strange, but the faint, secret smile Chan had given him as he pulled his hand away more than made up for it.

Woojin stretched, wincing at the series of clicks from his back. He really shouldn't have slept hunched over like that. But he had barely slept at all really, and exhaustion was still pulling at him. Crawling over to his side of the bed, he settled down and closed his eyes. He was asleep even before Chan made it back down the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through! Thank you so much to everyone who's left me kudos and comments so far, it really means a lot <3

The next day, Chan rose early. Woojin felt him go, felt the warmth of him slip away as he dozed, the sun too bright for him to properly sleep. Chan had a tendency to move closer in his sleep, Woojin was beginning to realise. It didn't bother him. Well, he thought, it didn't bother him in a negative sense. It was pleasant, to have Chan within reach, to feel the brush of skin when one of them shifted in their sleep. There was comfort in it.

A few minutes passed before Woojin heard Chan head back down the stairs, and he opened his eyes to greet him. "Why are you up so early?" he asked sleepily.

Chan bit his lip. "I thought about what you said," he explained. "About making new friends. And, well... someone I was friends with as a kid has just moved back here. I messaged him last night asking if he wanted any help moving in and unpacking, and he said yes, so..."

Woojin sat up, smiling. "That's great! It'll do you good to have some company. Were the two of you close?"

Chan nodded. "Yeah, he was my best friend," he explained. "He's a little younger than me, so I guess he was kind of like a baby brother. His name's Felix."

"Lucky," Woojin said thoughtfully, and Chan nodded again.

"Yeah. Everything always did seem to turn out right for him, so I guess it's fitting." He laughed. "Maybe that was just because he's always been so optimistic, though. He keeps telling me I should open up the shop again. I should maybe trust him on that."

"Well, I hope you enjoy your day with him." Woojin smiled encouragingly. Chan smiled back, and Woojin thought he felt the day grow brighter.

"I don't know what time I'll be back. You'll be ok on your own, right?"

"I'll be fine," Woojin assured him.

"I'll see you later, then," Chan said, and Woojin waved as he watched him disappear up the stairs and heard the front door slam. There had been a moment of hesitation, he thought, where Chan had shifted just slightly towards him as though to hug him goodbye before deciding against it. With a sigh, Woojin rubbed his eyes and padded across the room towards the stairs. He would finish the Silmarillion this morning, he thought. Chan had a few other Tolkein books, he had noted, so he would work his way through those until Chan returned.

* * *

Chan returned later than Woojin expected, dusk colouring the sky. He was glad to see him; the house had felt empty without his company.  _ You're just not used to being alone _ , he tried to tell himself.  _ You'd delight in any company, not just Chan's _ .

Chan was grinning when he headed down the stairs, and before he even said hello, he had wrapped his arms around Woojin's waist, pulling him in for a brief hug. The short contact, the slide of Chan's hands over his skin as he pulled away, took Woojin's breath from him, and it took a little effort to compose himself enough to laugh and choke out some sort of greeting.

"It was nice to see your friend, I'm guessing?" he said warmly, hoping Chan couldn't hear the tremble in his voice.

Chan nodded enthusiastically. "Apparently he's been meaning to get back in contact for years," he said, smiling. "It was like we'd seen each other yesterday. He's just- He makes me feel human again. After everything. I'm so glad I've got him back."

Woojin ruffled his hair gently, unable to stop himself from initiating some kind of contact as something ugly and emerald bright whispered underneath his ribs "I'm sure he feels the same," he said softly.

"I'll probably be spending more time around his," Chan said apologetically. "He has no idea where anything is in this city, and I sort of want to help him out."

"Of course!" Woojin agreed. "You should look after him."

Chan shot him a grateful smile. "Is it really ok? I don’t want to leave you on your own all the time..."

"It’s fine," Woojin reassured him. Chan's smile grew broader, and he pulled out his phone.

"I'll probably be out tomorrow, then. I’m showing him all the good coffee shops."

"Take him somewhere nice," Woojin said warmly. "I'm going for a bath."

Chan only hummed in response, smiling at his phone, and Woojin did his best to shake off that odd, venomous thing that had seeded in his chest. It was good, he told himself as he ascended the stairs, that Chan was spending time with this friend of his. He wasn't even sure why he needed to confirm that to himself; it delighted him to see Chan that happy, and to see him sharing that light he carried. He was becoming more and more irrational the longer he spent here, Woojin decided. But the thought of leaving still made his heart sink, though. He sighed. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't leave without losing his safety. The wards around this place were the only thing keeping him hidden. Did that make him a coward, he wondered? Perhaps it would be better after all, once Chan was more settled in Felix's company, to simply slip away. What happened after that would happen. Perhaps there was no point in delaying it. He would think on it, he decided. There was no need to be hasty.

* * *

A week passed in a similar way; Chan spent almost every day with Felix, showing him around, sharing memories from their childhood. He would come home each evening and talk about it with such excitement, such animation and joy that Woojin could hardly bear to resent his absence, despite the shoots of envy growing lush in the cavity of his chest, rooted in his ribcage and pulling the marrow from his bones.

"He's so insistent I open the shop again," Chan was telling him today. "I think I will. It won't take much organising, and he's promised to help with cleaning everything up."

_ Should I hide, when he comes over?  _ Woojin wanted to ask. But he didn't. He would be gone by that point, he told himself. He would.

"That's a good idea," Woojin agreed. "Your grandmother wanted you to have it."

He felt Chan watching him, and refused to let himself look up. He would crumble a little if he met Chan's eyes. He knew he would. "Are you ok?" Chan asked him after the conversation had paused for a beat too long. "I'm sorry I haven't been around much. Are you- have I upset you? You’re not lonely?"

Woojin finally looked up, feeling a twinge in his chest at the clear, open fear in Chan's eyes. "I'm not lonely at all," Woojin lied with a soft smile. "I do enjoy your company, but I don't mind being by myself."

Chan hesitated, eyes widening in confusion and something a little like hurt. "Oh," he said, and he seemed almost disappointed. "It’s just... I was thinking we could spend tomorrow together? I mean, it's been a while since I last cleaned your wings, and I-" he broke off, apparently unsure of whether to continue. "I miss you," he said eventually.

Carefully, Woojin reached for his hand. He couldn't resist. Despite sleeping beside him each night, the two of them hadn't engaged in much contact lately. There had been a distance between them, partially due to Chan's early rising and late returns, but partially due to Woojin's attempts to create it. It would be easier to go, he thought, if he knew Chan would be fine without him. So, Chan simply had to get used to being without him.

Obviously, that hadn't been working.

"I miss you, too," he said quietly. "A day would be nice. I've been too busy reading to clean my own wings," he admitted.

"We could look at some more books online," Chan suggested hopefully. Woojin felt a faint worm of guilt creep through him. He hadn't realised his attempt to make things easier on Chan would simply upset him. "If you pick out some you want I can go out and buy them for you."

Woojin smiled, squeezing his hand. "I'd like that," he said, and Chan visibly relaxed, eyes shining.

"I bought more lavender oil," he admitted, a little sheepishly. "I used a lot last time, and you seemed to like it, so..."

"Thank you, Chan," Woojin said. He meant it. It was such a little thing to think of, but Woojin truly had loved the scent of the lavender. It had lingered on his wings for days. Chan ducked his head, and Woojin wondered when he'd started to find that so endearing. "Come on," he said. "Let's get some sleep. It sounds like the two of you were running around all over the place today."

Chan laughed as he let Woojin pull him towards their bed. "Don't get me started. When he said sightseeing, I didn't think he meant we'd walk the entire length of the city. He's got so much more energy than I bargained for."

Woojin laughed. "Don't worry. We'll relax tomorrow."

"Yeah," Chan agreed, and the softness in his tone made Woojin's heart swell. "We will."

* * *

Chan seemed a great deal more comfortable cleaning Woojin's wings this time; he worked swiftly and confidently, humming along to the music playing from his phone. Relaxed by the motions and the scent of the lavender, Woojin joined in; it was a song he had heard Chan play a few times before, and he had picked up the lyrics.

"Please, see me," he sang. "Reaching out for someone I can't see." He felt Chan's hands stutter on a feather, and let his voice fade back into a hum.

"Don't stop," Chan said quietly. "Please."

"Ok," Woojin murmured, waiting for a new line to begin. "I'll be damned, Cupid's demanding back his arrow; so let's get drunk on our tears... And, God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young..." He sang the rest of the song, even more aware of Chan's soft humming beneath his voice. It gave the room a strange aura, to be filled with their voices rising together among the heavy scent of the lavender. It reminded Woojin a little of home, and he let himself sing louder as the song came to an end.

A strange hush descended over the both of them in the pause before the next song began. "I didn't know you could sing like that," Chan said eventually.

Woojin gave a one-sided shrug. "I haven't sung in quite a while now, so my voice isn't really what it should be."

Chan gave an incredulous laugh, close to his ear, and Woojin felt the same odd shivers he'd felt last time Chan had cleaned his wings. "That's not even your voice at full strength? Woojin, that was wonderful."

"I think you're overstating it a little," Woojin said quietly.

"Trust me," Chan said warmly. "I'm not. I haven't heard anyone sing like that outside of a recording in a long time." Woojin couldn't hold back a smile, unsure of what to say. 

"Thank you," he said in the end, and he felt Chan's hand rest on his shoulder briefly, fingertips brushing the top of his arm as he went back to brushing oil down Woojin's feathers. The touch felt strangely more intimate than usual, and Woojin suppressed a shiver.  _ Probably because he said something kind about you _ , Woojin told himself.  _ Remember how you reacted when he called you beautiful? _

"Ok," Chan said. "I think that one's done, but it didn't take as long as I expected. Can you just check if I've missed any feathers?" Carefully, Woojin curved his wing towards himself, examining the shine of it, tilting it to see if any spots failed to reflect the light. Chan stood just within his peripheral vision, watching Woojin's expression rather than the movements of his wing.

"No, that's perfect," Woojin told him with a smile. "I think they were just considerably less dirty than the last time you cleaned them."

Chan's face fell a little, and Woojin cursed himself for bringing it up. "Yeah," Chan said quietly. "I'll- I'll start the other one."

Reluctantly, Woojin sat down, trying to think of some way to distract Chan from his slump. "What will I do when Felix comes round to help you clean up the shop?" he asked lightly. "Will you lock the basement so he can't wander in and find an angel singing along to Ed Sheeran?"

Chan gave a slight hum that Woojin knew meant he was smiling, and his heart leaped in triumph. "I was-" Chan broke off, and Woojin waited. "I was thinking he could maybe meet you," he said quickly, and Woojin couldn't stop his wings twitching in surprise.

"You- what? Does he know?"

"No, he doesn't- well, I said I had a friend staying with me at the moment, and I’ve talked about you a fair bit I guess, but he doesn't know that you're-"

"Not human?"

"Yeah."

Woojin sighed. "I don't know, Chan. We don't often reveal ourselves to humans for a reason."

"I know, I just- I think it would be good for you to talk to someone who isn't me," Chan said softly. "I know things have changed but I'm still... you must have some bad memories associated with me. It's strange, that I'm the only human you know." He sighed. "And I really don't want to have to lock you in here."

Woojin hesitated. "Fine," he said eventually. "But you have to warn him beforehand, because I don't want him to faint."

"Don't worry, he'll be fine. He used to watch my grandma work in the shop, so he's a fairly strong believer in magic. He won't be too surprised."

Woojin couldn't help but laugh at that. "I think you may be overestimating him a little," he said gently. "Even the truest believers tend to be surprised by the appearance of an angel."

"Well, we'll see, won't we?" Chan said happily.

Woojin laughed, ruffling his feathers a little. "I suppose we will," he agreed, and relaxed back into the feeling of Chan's hands, gentle on his wings.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we get to meet Felix! Thank you for reading, and the next update will be Sunday <3

Two days later, Felix came over to help Chan organise the shop. Chan had been jittery all morning, frantically tidying and rearranging the basement. Once he'd moved the same book five times, Woojin stopped him, taking his hands and holding him in place.

"It's fine, Chan. It'll all be fine."

Chan sighed and moved closer, letting his head fall against Woojin's shoulder. Woojin taking his hand the other day had apparently been taken as an affirmation of physical contact, and Chan had seemed to grow more and more comfortable with gestures like this. It made Woojin happy, sending a hum through his skin to his sternum, although some part of him whispered that it shouldn't.

"It'll all be fine," Chan repeated. "He should be here soon. He said he was on his way."

"Go up to the shop, then," Woojin suggested. "You don't want to miss him."

"Yeah," Chan agreed quietly, nodding to himself before he headed to the stairs. Woojin watched him go, smiling reassuringly when he turned to look back. Chan smiled back a little nervously, and then he was gone.

Woojin sighed, letting the music Chan had chosen wash over him as he waited for Felix to arrive. It would all be fine.

He didn't have to wait long. The shop bell rang, and two voices lifted out of the quiet, one so deep Woojin could barely make out his words. A few minutes passed, the murmur of voices continuing, and then footsteps, moving towards the stairs.

Woojin sat up as the door swung open, revealing Chan and another, younger man who he assumed was Felix. He had wide, curious eyes and freckles dusting his cheeks, and looked nothing like the voice Woojin had heard through the floor.

"Please don't freak out," Chan said, and Felix just stared. Woojin tried a smile.

"Hello," he said. "You're Felix, right?"

Felix nodded, apparently unable to speak. Chan nudged him forwards and he almost fell, tripping over his own feet a little.

"Uh, yeah," he said, and Woojin held back a faint sound of shock as he realised the voice he had heard really did belong to Felix. "You're... you're Woojin." He froze for a moment before taking another step forwards and sticking out his hand.

"I am," Woojin said, shaking his hand. "Thank you for coming by to help Chan with the shop. It means a lot."

Felix beamed, and the sight of it shattered any ice remaining in the room. "That's no problem! I used to come in here all the time. His grandma would give me sweets," he said. Woojin resisted the urge to embrace him, already charmed. "Will you be helping, too?" Felix asked. He had moved closer, and was tentatively reaching out to touch one of Woojin's wings. He swept it closer to Felix's hand with a smile.

"No," he said. "These would get in the way. I'd do more harm than good."

"Oh," Felix said, obviously a little disappointed. Woojin shot an amused glance at Chan, who was watching Felix fondly from the doorway. "Well, we'll have a load of ingredients to sort, so we can bring them down here and talk more!" he suggested.

"I'd like that," Woojin agreed.

Felix laughed, running his fingers gently over Woojin's wing. "I sort of didn't believe him," he admitted. "When Chan said you were an angel. I mean- I believed in angels, I’ve seen one, but… I never thought I’d meet one."

"You’ve seen one?"

"Yeah. Above my friend’s flat."

"Your friend must be very favoured."

Felix's smile somehow grew even brighter at the affirmation. Chan coughed slightly, and he turned, watching Chan gesture with his head towards the stairs. "We'll see you later, I guess," he said, pulling his hand back from Woojin's wing.

"I look forward to it," Woojin said, and he didn't miss the grateful smile Chan gave him as Felix disappeared up the stairs into the shop.

"I'll be up in a minute!" Chan called. "Thanks," he said to Woojin. "He's kind of excitable, I guess, but he took it pretty well?"

"He did," Woojin agreed. "He's sweet. I'm glad the two of you have each other."

"Yeah," Chan murmured, staring up the stairs. Woojin felt the greenery blooming his chest twist tighter around one of his ribs. "Me, too. We'll see you later then, I suppose."

Woojin laughed. "If Felix has any say in it, you definitely will."

Chan disappeared up the stairs still laughing, and Woojin smiled to himself. Despite his jealousy, he loved seeing such gentleness in Chan's eyes as he had seen when he looked at Felix. It reminded him exactly why he didn't regret making him a soul, and staying to watch it grow.

Settling back down with his book, Woojin listened to the hum of voices above his head. He could hear Chan laughing, bright and loud, and his heart ached to be beside him. But he pushed it down, knowing he would see him smile again before the day was out, and let the words on the page wash over him.

* * *

Sometime in the mid afternoon, Felix bounded down the stairs, boxes containing multitudes of tiny bottles and jars stacked precariously in his arms. Woojin rushed to take one from him, and he grinned over the top of the remaining two.

"Thanks!" he said. "Chan's still sorting stuff upstairs, but I figured we could make a start on these!"

"What are they?" Woojin asked, carefully setting his box down on the table.

"Herbs, mostly. We've just got to figure out which ones are in which jars and then group them together so they can go in bigger containers."

Woojin nodded. "Sounds simple enough."

"Yup! I'll start on this box, and once we've sorted them I'll run back up and get the big jars to pour them into."

Felix chattered happily as the two of them worked, asking Woojin question after question about Heaven and angels. Woojin did his best to answer them, laughing at Felix's overdramatic reactions and the luminescence of his smile. Felix wasn't sparing with contact, either; he wasn't nervous in the way that Chan was, so he was constantly patting Woojin's hands to get his attention or resting his head briefly on his shoulder. It didn't send sparks through Woojin in the way that the feeling of Chan's skin against his did, and Woojin wondered again if he and Chan had some kind of connection due to the soul he had made.

"How did you and Chan meet?" Felix asked as he pushed aside two jars of rosemary. Woojin hesitated.

"I don't think that's my story to tell," he said eventually. "But he's keeping me safe, now."

Felix shot him a curious glance. "Ok," he said with a shrug. There was a pause, heavy and patient, before he next spoke. "He really cares about you, you know. He talks about you all the time."

Woojin wasn't quite sure what to say. "All good things, I hope," was what he settled for, but the words came out too soft and too sincere to be played off as a joke.

"Yeah," Felix said. He laid a hand over Woojin's, suddenly serious. "He talks about how kind you are, and that you tease him more than he thought you would, and that you make him feel good about himself. You make him happy, Woojin."

Woojin looked down into the pot of herbs in front of him, the sharp scent of aniseed buzzing in his head. "He makes me happy, too," Woojin said quietly.

Felix nodded. "I thought so," he said. He sniffed the pot in his hand. "Is this Valerian or chamomile?"

Woojin reached for the pot, inhaling deeply. "Valerian," he decided.

"You're gonna be good for this shop," Felix said happily. Woojin almost told him no, he wouldn't be staying long enough for that, but he could hear Chan's footsteps on the stairs so he simply smiled, feeling just a little sick.

"Hey!" Chan called cheerfully as he set down a series of large, empty jars on the table. "How's it going?"

"I think we're almost done," Felix said, beaming as he looked around at the almost empty boxes. "How's upstairs looking?"

"Good! Most of it's cleared, I've just got to sort out that pile of amulets in the desk drawer, which'll take me a good few weeks. Amulets are tricky. And then I sort of want to make index cards for spells to make them easier to find." He stretched, and it took Woojin a moment to look away from the strip of skin that showed as his shirt lifted. Felix, on the other hand, reached up to poke it, laughing as Chan let out a yelp and hunched over in surprise.

"Poke him!" Chan shouted, laughing as he pointed at Woojin. "He's showing way more skin than I am."

"That makes it less fun," Felix said, pouting a little. "Anyway, he's older than you. I have to show him some respect."

Behind his back, Woojin stuck out his tongue at Chan. "That's it," Chan said, throwing up his hands in outraged defeat. "I'm leaving. Take care of the shop for me."

"No!" Felix cried, running after him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, letting his feet drag on the floor as Chan soldiered on despite the extra weight. "Woojin, come help me!"

Woojin crossed the room to wrap his arms around the both of them, pulling Chan to a halt. Chan threw his head back onto Felix's shoulder, laughing, and Woojin laughed with him.

"Ok, ok, I'll stay," Chan conceded, smiling so brightly that Woojin found himself staring. He loved seeing Chan smile, loved the flutter it started in his chest. "Felix, I'll drive you back? It's getting dark."

"Thanks," Felix said, muffled by Chan's hair. "Woojin, catch!" He pushed away from Chan, falling slightly into Woojin's arms. Woojin laughed, stepping away from Chan as he put Felix back on his feet, ruffling his hair. Felix threw his arms around him in a brief hug before turning around and almost running up the stairs. "See you!" he shouted.

"It was good to meet you!" Woojin called after him.

Chan shot him a faintly apologetic grin. "He's... a lot. Sorry."

Woojin shook his head. "I like it. He's funny."

Relief seeped into Chan’s smile, and he ran his fingers back through his hair. "Yeah, he is. I'll see you in about an hour, the traffic will be a nightmare at this time of night."

"Ok. I'll finish up here." Woojin gestured to the remaining herbs, littered over the table.

"Thank you," Chan said, stepping closer and pulling Woojin in for a hug just as Felix had done. Woojin hoped Chan couldn't feel the shake of his hands as he returned the embrace, the flutter of his breath against his neck. This was so very different to holding Felix.

"Chan!" Felix called from upstairs. "Where's my other shoe?" Chan laughed, gentle against Woojin's skin, and Woojin tried not to shiver as he gently pushed him towards the stairs.

"You'd better help him find it," he suggested, and Chan grinned, shaking his head in exasperation as he followed Felix up the stairs.

Woojin watched him go, listening to their laughter and missing the feeling of Chan close against him as he wondered why he felt so much like crying.

* * *

Woojin was cleaning when Chan returned, sweeping up herbs that had scattered to the floor as he had poured them into fresh jars.

"You didn't have to do that," Chan said with a soft sigh.

Woojin shrugged. "I wanted to. And it wouldn't have been fair to leave it to you."

Chan stood, simply looking at him for a moment. "You're really too much sometimes, you know that?" He muttered, crossing the room to take the broom from Woojin.

"What does that mean?" Woojin asked, holding tight to the handle.

"Woojin, let- You just don't need to be as kind as you are." He let go of the broom handle and made to walk away, but Woojin caught his arm, letting the broom fall to the floor. He had heard the subtext there.  _ You don't need to be as kind as you are. Not to me. _

"Chan," he said. "Don't." He didn't know what else to say. He stepped forwards, letting his hand drift down to link their fingers together. "What happened?" he asked.

Chan exhaled, shuddering. "Felix asked me how we met again," he said softly. "He told me you'd said it wasn't your story to tell and I- I couldn't tell him, Woojin. I couldn't tell him that I did something like that. And someday I'll  _ have  _ to tell him and he'll be so horrified, Woojin, I  _ can't _ -"

"Hey," Woojin said gently, pulling him closer. "Hey, now. We can tell him together, if you want. Then he'll hear my side of the story too, and things won't seem so bad."

Chan gave a frustrated sigh. "There shouldn't  _ be  _ sides. There's only one story."

"But you'll paint yourself as a villain, Chan. And you're not."

"I am."

"No, you're not." Woojin stepped back a little, meeting Chan's eyes. "How much of it do you even remember?"

Chan's eyes widened, and he looked away guiltily. "Not much," he admitted in a small voice. "Bits and pieces. Like I was watching it in a film." The words didn't seem to come easily, and the idea that Chan had convinced himself he was a monster based on only the barest scraps of memories made Woojin want to break something in half.

"You see?" Woojin asked him. "That wasn't you, Chan. It wasn't. And Felix will understand that." Chan closed his eyes, and Woojin leaned in a little, brushing a tear from his cheek. "Look at me," he said softly, and it was only once Chan opened his eyes that Woojin realised just how close the two of them were, and he told himself firmly that he was imagining the way Chan's gaze flitted down to his lips. He swallowed. "You have to start being kinder to yourself, Chan," he said, voice shaking just a little. "I won't always be here to help you."

Chan froze, eyes wide. "You're- are you-" he couldn't seem to find the words, and Woojin wanted nothing more than to take back what he'd said and just hold him.

"I have to leave soon," he said instead. "I have to face my punishment sometime, and... it's not good for you, to have me reminding you of what happened. You need to... move on. Live a normal life." Chan's face fell, and another tear trailed down his cheek. "Don't cry," Woojin murmured, half to himself. "I'm not leaving right away. I'll stay until the shop opens, ok? I don't want to miss that."

"Ok," Chan said, voice thick. He pulled Woojin into a hug, burying his face in the angel's shoulder. "I'll miss you."

Woojin held him tight, trying to memorise the scent of him, the warmth. "I'll miss you, too," he whispered, and did his best to blink away his tears.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still four chapters to go... I offer absolutely no hints about what they will contain <3

Over the next few days, throughout preparations for the shop, Chan became even more tactile than before. Woojin couldn't say he minded; the sparks and flutters he felt at Chan's touch were easing into something warmer and more domestic, and Woojin delighted in the gentle hum of joy he felt when Chan's hand settled over his. But Chan was often absent, like today, and Woojin found he missed him more than ever.

"Hey!" Chan called, breathless from the stairway. "Sorry I'm back so late." He had been out running errands all day, picking up the last few things needed to make the shop ready for its grand reopening, and he looked exhausted.

"Hello," Woojin replied warmly, laying down one of the new books Chan had bought him. "Did you get everything you needed?"

Chan nodded, running a hand back through his already dishevelled hair. "Yeah, I think so," he said. Woojin smiled, crossing the room to fix his hair gently, stepping close to him to brush the strands back into place. Chan was still and silent until he blushed, ducking out from under Woojin's hand to place his phone on the table and allow it to connect to the speaker.

"I uh.... I realised I left you without music. Which I guess is kind of like leaving no food in the fridge? So, sorry, I guess, I just- I didn't really think." Woojin listened to him ramble, watched the pink tinging his cheeks; was Chan as affected by this as he was? It was an oddly comforting thought, despite the way it made his stomach twist.

Gentle music filtered through the room. Ed Sheeran again. Woojin smiled. It was a song he didn't think he'd heard before, slow and smooth and hopeful. Chan had closed his eyes, smiling gently as he swayed a little, and Woojin's chest ached in a way he never wanted to end.

"Dance with me," he said without thinking. Chan glanced up at him, eyes wide with alarm, and Woojin felt his heart plummet in his chest. Why had he said that? What had possessed him in that moment?  _ You're leaving soon, _ he told himself.  _ Let yourself have this, just for now _ .

"To- to this song?" Chan asked hesitantly. Woojin nodded, and Chan stepped forward slightly, avoiding eye contact as he moved into Woojin's space. As gently as he might reach for a hare trapped in wire, Woojin placed one hand on Chan's waist. He felt Chan's hand settle on his shoulder, the other reaching for his own. Chan met his eyes briefly before he looked down at their feet, stepping back as Woojin stepped forwards.

It was simple, nothing more than the most basic waltz, but Woojin had to fight the urge to pull Chan closer to his chest, rest his cheek against Chan's hair. He tried to focus on his footwork, on the lyrics, on anything except the feeling of Chan's hand in his own, and the way he looked up at brief intervals, meeting Woojin's eyes with an expression of hesitation and of wonder.

_ When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath, but you heard it: darling you look perfect tonight. _

Chan looked up at him again, and Woojin met his gaze, wondering what Chan could see in his eyes that would make him look at Woojin like that; so awed, and so full of warmth. He felt Chan's hand move, and he daren't breathe as it slipped from his shoulder to the back of his neck. The two of them had stopped moving, Woojin realised, although the song went on, and Chan stepped just a little closer, enough that the fabric of his shirt brushed Woojin's chest. Woojin didn't move, simply let his eyes flit over Chan's features, waiting for something he couldn't put a name to.

And then Chan kissed him, and Woojin realised exactly what his heart had been telling him every time he thought about leaving.  _ Don't go, _ it had been saying.  _ Stay. Stay with him until he turns you away, stay with him until the last possible moment.  _ Woojin let their joined hands fall, resting both hands on Chan's waist as he kissed back hesitantly. This was new to him, but despite that, despite the unfamiliarity and the confusion, the feeling of Chan's lips against his was setting his heart alight. It was new, it was uncertain, but it was  _ perfect _ .

It was over too soon.

Chan pulled back abruptly, eyes wide with panic. "I'm- oh, no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-  _ fuck _ , I shouldn't have done that." He was backing away slowly, and Woojin reached for him, but the step he took seemed to break some kind of spell and Chan turned and ran, pelting up the stairs fast enough that Woojin heard the front door slam before he was halfway up the stairs. He didn't bother calling out.

Woojin knelt heavily on the stairs, holding his wings at an uncomfortable angle so that he could sit down and process what had just happened. Chan had kissed him. Chan had  _ kissed him _ , tangling his fingers gently in Woojin’s hair, lips soft against his own, and Woojin’s heart had _soared_. He sighed, readjusting his wings in the cramped space. He should have read the signs, should have known that every quickened beat of his heart, every time he shivered when Chan touched his skin  _ meant _ something. Even now, with Chan gone, the ghost of the kiss still hummed on Woojin’s lips and in his chest, blooming warmth beneath his ribs.

But Chan had left. What had happened there? Had he not reacted right? Had Chan not felt that it was something he wanted? To be fair, Woojin hadn't even realised it was what he wanted until it happened. He had known that he cared for Chan, that he was reluctant to leave him, that every brush of skin felt like light flooding his veins; had he been human, he supposed he would have realised almost straight away what was happening. This whole time, he had been falling in love with Chan. He was sure of it, now that he thought about every moment that had passed between them, his jealousy when Chan spent all his days with Felix.

Perhaps Chan had headed to Felix now, to tell him that he’d made a mistake.  _ You didn’t,  _ Woojin thought, hoping it would somehow reach Chan.  _ I wanted it. It wasn’t a mistake. _

A thought struck him. Had Chan left so quickly not because he thought Woojin was rejecting him, but because  _ he  _ was rejecting Woojin? Had he regretted the kiss? Could he not stand to be in the same room as him after doing something so foolish?

Tears began to blur his vision, and the ache in his chest along with the growing cramp in his wings was enough to make them spill over. He shouldn't have asked Chan to dance. He should have kept his distance, kept that strange, gentle ambiguity between them. Woojin leaned forwards, let his forehead hit the floorboards gently. It was new, this much sadness, in the same way that the kiss had been new. Even before, when Chan had been cruel and cold, Woojin hadn't  _ hurt  _ like this. He shuffled his wings so they acted almost like a blanket, ignoring the way they ached. He didn't really know what else to do. Wasn't this what humans did when they were sad? He thought it was.

Closing his eyes, Woojin let his tears fall until sleep held him in merciful arms.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of Chan's voice, the feeling of a warm hand against his shoulder.

"Woojin?" Chan was saying, over and over as he shook him, voice tinged bright with panic. "Woojin, are you ok?"

Woojin shifted, whimpering a little at the ache in his wings and shoulders. They were so stiff he could barely move, but he scrambled to his feet as best he could, clinging to Chan for support. He tried to ignore the feeling of Chan's hands on his waist as he steadied him. "You left," he said, gripping Chan's arm. "You left and you didn't say why and I was- did I do something wrong?" Chan was staring at him, eyes wide, but Woojin's eyes were drawn to the large cardboard box on the floor behind him. "What's that?" he asked. Chan looked away.

"It's a bed," he mumbled. "I thought- I didn't think you'd be comfortable with sharing. After I... did that."

"After you kissed me?"

" _ Yes,  _ after I... kissed you. I'm sorry, I know it was stupid, I just- you make me feel... a lot, I guess, and I just feel like everything's better when you're around and I can't stop thinking about you-" he ran his hand back through his hair, avoiding Woojin's eyes. "And I know that's probably just an angel thing and it's not special and  _ I'm  _ not special, and I don't deserve to think of you like that after... after everything and I-"

"Be quiet," Woojin said softly, and pulled Chan close to kiss him. Chan took a moment to respond, but a faint thrill ran through Woojin as he felt Chan's hands move up to his hair as he kissed him back, gentle and hesitant. He could get used to kissing Chan, he thought.

"I don't mind sharing a bed," he whispered when they parted, and Chan nodded, looking happier and more confused than Woojin had ever seen him.

"Yeah," he said, a little breathlessly. "Yeah, ok. That's... yeah." He laughed, bright and brilliant, and Woojin held him close, marvelling in the feeling of someone in his arms. He'd never thought he could have this; he'd never really considered it. But this was Chan, and Woojin couldn't think of anywhere he belonged better except here, face buried in Woojin's neck, laughing in disbelief.

"I need to stretch," he whispered to Chan eventually. "I really shouldn't have slept here."

Chan's smile faded a little. "I'm sorry," he said again as the two of them headed down the stairs. "I didn't think, when I left. I just panicked."

"Why? I kissed you back."

"I know, I just... you're so accommodating sometimes. I thought maybe you were just kissing me because you thought it would make me happy. And... and you're leaving. I shouldn't have done it." Woojin stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face him. Something in his expression made Chan's eyes widen a little, and Woojin reached for his hand to draw him closer.

"I love the fact that kissing me makes you happy," he said softly. "But you should understand that it makes me very,  _ very  _ happy, too." He leaned in to press his lips to Chan's, pulling away quickly and watching Chan lean forwards on the stairs as he followed the fading kiss. Woojin couldn't help laughing at the frown that creased Chan's brows once he realised what he'd done, and he pulled him gently down the stairs and into his arms again. "And I won't go anywhere if you don't want me to. Being close to you makes me happy, Chan. I was only going to leave because I thought I was making you unhappy, or stopping you from living a normal human life. But you have Felix, and the shop, so..." he pressed a soft kiss to Chan's forehead. "I think I can stay." Hesitantly, Chan leaned in to kiss him properly, sighing gently as they parted.

"We're not going to get anything done today, are we?" Woojin teased.

"Did you have plans?"

"Not really. This is better than anything, anyway," he murmured, and he felt his heart soar as Chan kissed him yet again. In that moment, the thought of never returning home didn't seem quite so heavy, and Woojin realised vaguely that the thought of staying here forever, in this strange, sparsely furnished basement with Chan, brought him more hope than fear.

The two of them slept curled closer than ever that night, Chan wrapping his arms around Woojin's waist, gently stroking the down at the base of his wings, Woojin unable to resist pressing soft kisses to Chan's shoulder. Was this love, he wondered? Not the kind of platonic, all-encompassing love he'd always been told of, but  _ love,  _ gentle and sweet and belonging to only the two of them. He thought about saying it, the words soft as distant stars in the night. He decided against it in the end, held their light in his chest until he was ready. Because this was love. Woojin was sure of it.

* * *

When Chan awoke, breath soft against Woojin's chest, he seemed considerably less embarrassed than he had the first time they had slept so close. Sleepily, he pressed soft kisses to Woojin's lips, and Woojin hummed in contentment at the sensation.

"Good morning," he said gently, and Chan smiled at the sound of his voice. "What do you want to do today?"

"This," Chan replied, and Woojin laughed as he curled in closer, nuzzling into Woojin's neck.

"You have to get up to get breakfast, at least," he pointed out, kissing Chan's hair.

" _ Fine _ ," Chan grumbled gently. "But not right now."

Woojin shivered as Chan kissed him slowly, teeth grazing his bottom lip. "No," he agreed when Chan pulled away for a second. "Not right now."

Eventually, Chan left, returning with a plate in one hand and a guitar in the other. Woojin raised his eyebrows at it, and Chan laughed.

"Since angels apparently can't play the saxophone, I figured I'd teach you how to play at least one instrument. If you want to, that is."

Woojin grinned. "I'd love to. Since brass is obviously lost on me, strings might be a safer bet."

He gently plucked at the strings as Chan ate, not trying to make any kind of tune but simply enjoying the sounds that arose. After a few minutes, Chan sat down next to him, guiding Woojin's hands gently across the frets and helping him play up and down the scales. He was soft and serious, adjusting the position of Woojin's fingers carefully, and Woojin found himself distracted by the calm intensity of his expression more than once.

"What are you looking at?" Chan asked lightly when he caught Woojin's eye.

"You."

Chan laughed. "Why?" he asked. "You should be looking at the guitar."

"I know," Woojin responded. "You're just sort of beautiful."

"Only sort of?" Chan said jokingly, and Woojin leaned in to kiss him.

"More than sort of," he whispered against his lips, and he felt Chan carefully pull the guitar from his grip and lay it on the bed beside him as he deepened the kiss.

"Where do we go from here?" Chan asked him softly, as the two of them sat in the fading light of the afternoon. "We can't exactly go out on dates, can we?" He nudged Woojin's wing gently where it rested over his shoulder.

"No, we can't," Woojin agreed. "I'm happy to just be here with you, though."

"You can't live in a basement for as long as we're together, Woojin." Chan was frowning now, searching Woojin's eyes as though he were looking for a hint of doubt there.

"There are ways around that," Woojin said carefully. "But for now, can we just... enjoy this?" He smiled faintly at Chan. "You may have had this before, but I never have."

Chan took his hand, running a thumb over his knuckles. "Ok," he agreed, sliding his other hand over the planes of Woojin's cheek. "Ok."

Woojin felt Chan sigh as he kissed him, fingers tangling in his curls, and he hoped it was because, like him, Chan felt home in every place their skin touched. He knew they would have to discuss how to proceed, how to live this way when neither of them had ever planned to; but for today, he thought as he kissed softly along Chan's jaw, he just wanted this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU ricochets uncontrollably between soft and angst, and I am sorry for that <3

Chan seemed unsettled the next morning, thoughtful and distant; Woojin couldn’t quite seem to distract him from it, and he eventually rolled out of bed saying that he was hungry, and he needed to get food.

"Can I watch you cook?" Woojin asked, still trying to break the odd mood Chan was in. "I've never really seen it done."

"I don't think you'll fit in my kitchen," Chan mumbled. "It's barely big enough for one person, let alone someone with wings." Woojin nodded, a little disappointed, and Chan watched him for a moment.

"We can video chat while I cook," he suggested eventually. "If it would make you happy."

"It would," Woojin said, and within ten minutes he had a slightly blurred image of Chan's face, frowning as he tried to balance his phone.

"Can you hear me ok?"

"I can," Woojin told him, and Chan gave him a brittle smile. Woojin held back a sigh. Any kind of smile was progress, he supposed. Woojin watched him slice fruit and adjust gas rings, squinting at the recipe whenever he wasn't sure what to do.

"You've really never seen anyone cook?" he asked once he seemed more sure of himself.

"Not really. I haven't spent much time on earth over the years," Woojin said thoughtfully.

"Must be weird to be down here, then," Chan commented.

Woojin shrugged. "I've not seen much of it." He saw Chan flinch. "We talked about this yesterday. I couldn't go out, not with a sixteen foot wingspan."

"Good point," he mumbled, staring down into the saucepan rather than meeting Woojin's eyes through the screen.

"You know, being down here... I miss home less than I thought I would, if I'm honest," Woojin continued. "Just some of my friends."

"The friends you'd tell stories to?"

"Yes, those friends."

"What were they like?"

Woojin laughed. "All of them too clever for their own good, and a little... abrasive? For angels, at least. Minho is just... ridiculous. Sharp and strange and sort of unpredictable. Things are always dull without him. Hyunjin and Seungmin are just joined at the hip. I don't think they know how to leave each other alone."

"Sounds like having someone as calm as you around did them good," Chan joked before hesitating, smile fading. "...Will they be ok without you? If you're staying here."

Woojin sighed. "I'm sure they'll be fine. They're more sensible than they seem."

"Do you think they've been looking for you?" Chan asked softly, and even through the blur of the connection Woojin could hear the delicate bleed of guilt into his tone.

"I don't think so. I don't think they'll be allowed to."

"Because you broke the law."

Woojin wished he could hold him. "I still don't regret it, Chan."

Chan made a faint, frustrated sound, and Woojin pulled back a little from the screen. "It's been weeks, Woojin.  _ Weeks,"  _ Chan said. He sounded desperate, like he was talking to someone who refused to understand. "You're going to live for thousands of years. If they never let you go home... at some point, you'll regret this."

Woojin didn't know what to say. He settled for the only point he could find an argument for. "I don't have to. I don't have to live that long." It was the wrong thing to say. Chan went pale, even through the screen, and Woojin thought he might cry. "That's- I didn't mean it like that, Chan, I- Angels can Fall. Not all of us live forever. I can limit myself to a mortal lifespan, if I choose."

Chan was silent for a moment, the only sound coming through the laptop the sizzle of oil in the pan. "Would you?" he asked eventually.

"Maybe," Woojin replied softly. "For you."

It took a moment for Chan to reply. "This is ready," he mumbled, sounding a little tearful. "I'll be down in a minute."

* * *

Chan was quiet while he ate; Woojin didn't know what to say, how to break this odd silence that seemed to have settled over the two of them. Things had seemed so perfect yesterday, but he should have known that Chan's doubts wouldn't fade so quickly. His guilt, although Woojin had assured him it wasn't necessary, weighed heavy on his soul. It was visible in the curve of his shoulders, the way he picked at his food. Woojin even thought he could see it in the shade of his eyes, touched with a darkness beyond their normal depth.

"Would you really give up immortality for me?" Chan asked eventually, barely audible. He didn't look up, gaze fixed on his plate as he pushed a slice of strawberry around with his fork.

"I would," Woojin said carefully. "If that's what you wanted."

"Do you-" Chan began, too loud for the room now. He took a shaking breath, controlling his tone. "Do you hear yourself? It's been a _day_ since anything even happened between us, and you're acting like you- you _expected_ this to happen to us, like we're destined to be together. I kidnapped you, Woojin. I know, we said it wasn't me, but you would have _seen_ me. I was the one who pulled you out of the sky, dragged you home in a net with broken wings hanging half out your back while you _begged_ me to let you go. I kept you down here for weeks _._ I starved you until you broke some kind of divine law for me. You must remember that. You must remember me looking at you like you were nothing more than... than an object. A tool. I barely remember it but you- You act like nothing's wrong between us, like it isn't strange to want to be with me when I trapped you here and I'm almost the only person you've spoken to in weeks, like I'm not- I don't know, taking advantage of you."

He was rambling now, running his hands back through his hair as he had done when he was waiting, ever impatient, for his soul. Woojin reached for his wrists and he pulled away, his chair falling as he got to his feet and backed away. "You- you hold my hands, and kiss me, and look at me like I'm worth something, and I don't know how the hell you do that without seeing me holding a fucking  _ cleaver  _ to that kid's throat. I don't know how you want me when you've seen that, it doesn't make s _ ense  _ that you want me."

"Chan," Woojin said carefully. "Please, calm down."

"No! I have no _fucking_ reason to be calm about any of this! Do you know how insane it is? All of it? Because it's taken me falling in love with you to make me realise, and it's fucked up, Woojin. Why are you with me? Why the fuck didn't you leave straight away?"

_ He loves you,  _ some distant part of Woojin's heart said, soaring as the rest fell.  _ He said he's in love with you. _ Woojin did his best to ignore it. "Because I care about you, Chan," he said. "Wouldn't you stay, if you were in my place?"

"I don't  _ know _ !" Chan shouted, finally meeting Woojin's eyes. "I don't know, Woojin, because no one has ever done anything so fucking horrific to me as I've done to you."  Silence settled, broken only by the heavy rasp of Chan's breathing. It sounded like it was hurting him, tearing a bloody path through his throat and lungs, painting him an ugly red from the inside.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Woojin said softly. "I agree, this isn't... conventional. No relationship should start the way ours did. And you're right, sometimes there are... hints, I suppose, of the way you were before, and they scare me, just a little." Chan let out a sob and Woojin stepped closer, reaching out slowly until his fingertips brushed Chan's elbow. "But I trust you, Chan. I held your soul in my hands. I know that those days have passed. You wouldn't hurt me. The person you are now, the person who I choose to sleep beside, is  _ not  _ the same as the person who did those things. And you're not taking advantage of me, Chan. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have let you kiss me in the first place." He sighed. "It may not make sense for me to care for you, but... I don't think these things often do."

"I just want this to be normal," Chan whispered. "I want to look at you without remembering holding your arm in my hands and  _ snapping it _ , Woojin. I want to talk about the future without feeling like I'm taking your whole life away from you."

"I know," Woojin said gently. "I understand." He took a deep breath. "I know I said I'd stay, but... I can leave, just for a little while, if you need time."

Chan's eyes widened and he grasped Woojin's hand as if on instinct, gripping tight enough that Woojin held back a flinch. "No," he said desperately. "I don't- unless you want to leave, I want you to stay, please, I-" He sobbed again, relaxing his grip on Woojin's hand and watching the colour fade back into the skin. "I don't want you to go."

Woojin pulled Chan into his arms slowly, feeling the weight of words unspoken hanging over both of them like a scythe. "I don't want to go either," he said softly. Chan's tears were warm against his skin.

"This is so fucked up," Woojin heard him whisper close to his ear. There was nothing he could say, so he simply held him closer in response, letting his own tears soak into Chan's hair as the sun passed by outside the window, bathing the room in shafts of alchemist's gold.

Chan didn't sleep next to him that night. Woojin had waited for hours in the evening, toying with the guitar, not wanting to sleep without him, but not wanting to seek him out in case he intruded on space that Chan needed. It was only when he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open that he'd fallen asleep, awaking to a note on the table stating that Chan had gone back to visit Felix. The tone of it had been... strange. It wasn't cold by any means, but there was a distance to it, as though Chan wasn't sure how to proceed. Woojin sighed. He wouldn't be the only one.

* * *

Woojin barely saw Chan over the next few days. Chan still kissed him when they were together, light brushes of his lips against Woojin's, but there was a hesitance there; Chan seemed determined to be distant with him, spending hours longer away from home, claiming he was busy trying to set things up for the shop. Even when he seemed relaxed, Woojin could see him catching himself before he laughed too hard, aborting movements he made as though to touch. He needed time, Woojin knew, but it didn't make the strange silence any easier to bear.

"Please," Woojin said eventually, after five days of this had passed. "Please stop this, Chan, I  _ miss  _ you." That made Chan falter for a moment in his path to the door, and Woojin watched his shoulders slump.

"Even if you've changed your mind," he continued, trying not to let his voice shake. "Even if you think we shouldn't be... together, Chan, I miss you as a friend. I'd rather you tell me, if you think we shouldn't be doing this."

When Chan turned from the door there were tears in his eyes. "That's not- that's not it, Woojin, I just-" Woojin opened his arms and Chan crossed the room without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Woojin's waist and burying his face in his shoulder. "I want to be with you. I do, Woojin, I just... I need this to slow down. So I can convince myself this is ok."

"This is what I want," Woojin whispered. " _ You're  _ what I want. Isn't that enough?"

Chan sighed. "It should be," he agreed. "It will be."

Woojin hummed, pressing a kiss to his hair. "It will be," he reassured.

Chan pulled back a little, staring at his wings curiously. It was good to see that curiosity back, Woojin thought. "The process of you losing immortality," Chan asked. "How exactly would it work?"

Woojin flushed a little, wondering how to phrase this. "Things would have to become considerably less... chaste between us," he said delicately, and watched Chan's eyes widen as a blush rose up his neck.

"Oh," he said. It seemed to be all he  _ could _ say, and he refused to meet Woojin's eyes for a moment. It occurred to Woojin then that Chan was human, and by definition his thoughts may not be quite so chaste as Woojin's had been. He could feel himself colouring at the thought.

"Have you... considered that?" he asked carefully, and Chan turned an even brighter shade of red. Woojin couldn't help but laugh a little. "You  _ have _ ," he accused.

Chan threw his hands up in defeat. "You- you walk around shirtless! All the time!" he argued. "I'm only human!"

Woojin laughed properly that time, pulling him closer again and pressing a playful kiss to his nose. "I wouldn't want you any other way," he murmured fondly, and Chan's answering smile held only the faintest hesitation.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new character appears! And only two more chapters to go...

A strange kind of normality descended upon the two of them from that point onwards, and the weeks passed slow and golden as August drifted into September. Chan spent most of his time at home, sometimes working upstairs in the shop with Felix, sometimes down in the basement, sitting close to Woojin. There were moments, of course, where Chan would shy away from Woojin's touch, or avoid his gaze, but Woojin learned to give him time. And they grew closer, in the routine of it; waking up to soft touches and kisses, Chan cooking and working on the spell index or the pile of amulets he'd found in the shop, the afternoon spent in leisure; dancing, watching films, reading. Woojin was working his way gradually through the new books Chan had bought him, but he maintained that Lord of the Rings had been his favourite, and he was encouraged repeatedly to watch the films.

When they finally did, Chan murmured almost every line; he went quiet during the scenes between Arwen and Aragorn, perhaps seeing parallels he wanted to avoid, but Woojin simply kissed his hair gently and squeezed his hand. He seemed restless once the film ended, wandering the room moving things around as Woojin watched him from the edge of the bed. The angel ended up grabbing him as he passed, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he could, laughing as he held him fast to stop him pacing. He felt Chan lean against him, the softness of breath against Woojin's neck turning into the press of Chan's mouth. Slowly, Chan settled, straddling Woojin's thighs as he pressed kiss after kiss to his neck. Woojin let his head fall back against the headboard, wings pressing into the pillows a little uncomfortably. This was bolder than Chan usually was, pushing the intangible barriers the two of them appeared to have set up. Woojin wasn't entirely sure what had prompted it, but couldn't say he minded.

" _ Oh, _ " he breathed as Chan's teeth grazed the side of his throat, and it occurred to him that he had never truly understood temptation until this point. He had understood the concept of it, certainly, but now, with Chan almost in his lap, blooming soft bruises on his neck, the urge to slip his hands under Chan's shirt and feel the gradient of his ribcage beneath his hands... Woojin  _ wanted. _

He gasped, pushing at Chan's shoulders as calmly as he could manage. Chan pulled back immediately, and Woojin felt the faintest thrill run through him at the sight of his eyes, pupils wide and dark and shining as though touched by belladonna.

"Are you ok?" he asked, obviously a little worried. "Was that too far?"

Woojin shook his head, not quite trusting himself to speak for a moment. "No, that was... that was good. More than good. I just. Wasn't expecting it to feel  _ that _ good." He let out a breathless laugh. "Does that make sense?"

Chan smiled, relaxing. "Yeah. That makes sense. I'll, uh. Warn you, next time I'm going to do something like that."

Woojin returned his smile. "Please don't let me deter you from doing such things, though," he said lightly. "Like I said, it was... enjoyable." He hesitated. "What brought it on?"

Chan sighed. "I don't want to lose you," was all he said.

"You won't," Woojin murmured, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "I told you, I'll stay."

"I know," Chan agreed. He blushed. "That's why... you said things would have to get... less chaste."

Woojin's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh," he said. Chan leaned back a little, obviously starting to panic. 

"Should I not have done it? I'm sorry if I-" Woojin silenced him with a gentle kiss, staying close enough that his breath was a caress against Chan's cheek.

"Shh. It's fine. I wanted it." He paused. "I want you," he mumbled. The phrase felt awkward on his tongue, but Chan gave a contented little sigh, leaning in close to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Thank you for... initiating things. I wouldn't have known where to start," Woojin admitted. Chan laughed, and his answering smile sent the faintest of shivers down Woojin's spine.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "I do."

* * *

Woojin didn't sleep well that night. It was partially due to thoughts of Chan, the implications of his words and the shock of his teeth against Woojin's skin. They had spent a little longer together after their discussion, Woojin feeling the beat of his pulse as Chan's tongue met his own, daring the faintest brush of his fingertips against the skin of Chan's stomach. But they had gone no further, and Woojin was content with that.

The other reason for his restlessness was the odd, somewhat  _ familiar _ feeling in the air. It hung heavy, like the scent of jasmine too thick in moonlight. Woojin didn't quite think he could breathe through it, and he felt sparks shoot through his feathers with every gulp of air he dragged into his lungs.

The reason for the feeling soon became apparent.

"Woojin!" The voice was a stage whisper, coming from the window that rested at the top of the basement wall. He knew that voice. Untangling his limbs from Chan's, he beat his wings as softly as he could, carrying himself up to the window. Outside, crouched on the pavement with his wings wrapped protectively around himself, was Minho.

The two of them had been friends for as long as Woojin could remember, but he didn't think he'd ever seen this particular expression on the other angel's face. He looked afraid, and a little angry, and more tired than Woojin had ever seen him.

"What on  _ earth  _ do you think you're doing?" he hissed through the window. "Hiding out in a spelled basement?"

Woojin frowned. "You shouldn't have been able to get past those," he pointed out.

Minho laughed bitterly. "Most wards don't work on someone seeking you out as a friend. Lucky you don't have many of those. They're unlikely to set Hyunjin and Seungmin on you."

"No one else can find me, then?” Woojin asked.

Minho shook his head. "Nope. Not that they're not looking. They want to do the whole ceremony of informing you of your banishment."

Woojin felt sick. Banishment from Heaven. "How long is it?"

"A thousand years. Nothing you couldn't occupy yourself for." Minho frowned. "Although it seems like you've been  _ occupying  _ yourself well enough already. You're sharing a bed with him?"

Woojin sighed. "That's... that's not really your business, Minho."

"You'll Fall if you keep this up." He wrinkled his nose. "You've already come close, judging by how much you smell of him."

The faintest flare of anger sparked in Woojin's chest. "Stop it, Minho," he ordered. "And I'm not the only one who smells like a human, am I?" He had picked up on it as soon as Minho had started speaking. There was something else layered over the familiarity of him, a scent of fear, delicate as a fading rose, along with wood and skin and hope. It was a so very  _ human  _ smell.

Minho looked away. "It's different," he argued weakly. "It's not... I'm not in love with Jisung. He just needs someone to keep an eye on him."

"And that has to be you?"

"He helped me out. It seems appropriate that I'd offer him a little kindness." He sighed. "I have to go."

"Home, or to Jisung?"

The look Minho shot him was withering, and it was almost enough to make Woojin laugh. "I'll visit if I can. Don't do anything stupid."

"I think I will," Woojin called softly as he began to move away.

"What, do something stupid?"

"Fall," Woojin clarified. "I think I'll Fall."

Minho was silent for a moment. "You want him that badly?" he asked eventually, almost teasing. "I never took you for the lustful sort." Woojin barely had time to protest before his expression softened. "I understand, Woojin. It's not about that, for you, is it? You just want to share the years with him." Woojin nodded, and Minho reached through the slight opening of the window to touch his hand. "Good luck, Woojin. I hope we see each other again."

"I hope so, too."

And then Minho was gone, nothing more than wingbeats and the scent of jasmine in the night.

* * *

Woojin didn't tell Chan about Minho's visit right away. He wasn't sure how to approach the subject, given Chan's guilt surrounding the creation of his soul and Woojin's punishment. Instead, he delayed the discussion into the afternoon, distracting Chan from his amulets with kisses and laughter.

Eventually, Chan gave up on the current specimen, complaining that it refused to be identified, and Woojin swallowed his fear.

"A friend of mine came by last night," he said lightly. "Your wards are working well. He could only get in because he had friendly intentions."

Chan looked up, eyes wide. "You mean... an angel? Here? Which one?"

"Minho. He came to inform me of my sentence."

Chan froze. "Oh," he said quietly. Woojin took his hand.

"It doesn't matter, remember? I'm staying. I just thought you'd like to be kept up to date."

Silence, as Chan stared into the marbled blues of the gem within the amulet. "What is it?" he asked quietly. "Your sentence?"

"Banishment. For a thousand years," Woojin replied. "But it doesn't-"

"Doesn't matter. Yeah." Chan looked like he was blinking away tears. "You won't even live that long," he said, voice hollow, "if you-" Woojin touched his shoulder.

"Chan..."

"I know. It's fine, I know, it's just... a lot."

"I know," Woojin said kindly. "It's a lot for me, too."

Chan leaned into his touch, letting Woojin wrap his arms around his shoulders. "You make it seem like nothing," he whispered.

"Because I know what I want," Woojin replied. "And that makes things simple for me." Chan pulled away from his grip a little, leaning in to kiss him softly, and for a moment, everything felt right.

* * *

Along with Felix, the two of them spent the next week incredibly busy; Chan had decided that the shop was finally ready to reopen and spent a great deal of time placing down spells to attract those in need. Woojin was charged with organising the very last of the tree barks into jars, while Felix arranged shelves and made the shop look as inviting as it had when he was young.

Chan's spells took effect when Woojin finished pouring shards of willow bark into a jar about the size of his head; he heard the bell ring, and the sound of a timid voice. It was too quiet for him to make out words, but the shoulder of Chan's shirt was damp with tears when he ran back downstairs. He beamed, and Woojin couldn't help but smile in return. He looked so happy to have done something good, to have helped someone. Even though he knew Chan had to get back to the shop, and Felix could walk in at any moment, Woojin couldn't help kissing him.

"You could have been an angel in another life," he whispered against Chan's lips.

"Mm, I don't think so," Chan replied. "Too much sin. Not doing so great on lust, especially."

"Oh, aren't you?" Woojin murmured, brushing Chan's ear lobe with his teeth. Chan laughed breathlessly.

"You should know that better than anyone," he teased. Upstairs, the bell rang, and Felix called out. Chan gave a slightly frustrated sigh. "Guess we're saving that for later."

Woojin kissed him quickly before pushing him towards the stairs. "I suppose we are," he agreed. "I'll still be here."

Chan turned, smiling faintly. "I know," he said softly, and for the first time, Woojin thought he believed it.

The spells continued to take effect, with people turning up at the shop with complaints from colds to impossibly bad luck to missing loved ones. A few aspiring witches and spiritualists had come simply looking for ingredients, and Chan had praised Felix and Woojin's meticulous filing over and over.

Once the first week of opening was done, Chan had brought home champagne as a celebration for the three of them. Felix teased him mercilessly for getting so emotional, but it wasn't until the youngest had left that Chan truly broke down. He cried, overwhelmed and happy, while Woojin held him and kissed the salt from his skin.

"This is perfect," Chan had whispered. "How is everything so perfect?"

"Don't you dare say you don't deserve it," Woojin had told him, and Chan had choked on a sob, kissing him to disguise fresh tears. He would learn, Woojin hoped, that nothing about this was more than he deserved. That he was good, and kind, and worthy of all the love Woojin and Felix gave to him.

Perhaps, he thought, it would just take a little time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sort of marks the return of the Graphic Descriptions of Violence tag, just because there's a lot of blood. So much blood. I'm sorry.

When Chan opened the shop again two days later, an unexpected visitor appeared.

"Woojin?" he called from upstairs, voice shaking. "Woojin, please come up here." Sensing his panic, Woojin scaled the stairs two at a time, twisting awkwardly to stop his wings jarring on the walls. Chan was standing with his back to him, facing into the shop, and Woojin resisted the urge to pull him back, out of the way of whatever had scared him so badly. Instead, he held Chan's waist, peering over his shoulder.

"Hi," the boy standing there said quietly. "You're looking better."

For a moment, Woojin couldn't speak. He knew those features; they were a little thinner than they had been, a little less afraid.  "Jeongin?" he asked softly once he had found his voice. Jeongin nodded, a smile flickering briefly across his features. There was a delicate silver scar across his throat, Woojin noticed, and he tried not to stare.

"Yeah. I thought… I thought I needed to come back.” He turned, flipping the sign on the door to  _ closed _ . His hands shook as he did so, and he avoided Chan’s eyes. “I wanted to see if they were right. Hyunjin and Seungmin, I mean. They said you would have made him a soul. That he’d be different now.” He looked at Woojin, gaze tracing the perfect arc of his wings. They’d been broken the last time Jeongin had seen them, dragging along the floor. “They’re worried about you, by the way."

"How do you- Hyunjin and Seungmin?" Woojin asked faintly.

"I started having- nightmares,” Jeongin explained haltingly. “About angels. And about… about you. After the last time we met." Chan made a faint, wounded sound, and Woojin reached for his hand. If Jeongin noticed, he pretended not to. "They were assigned to check on me and they sort of..." his expression shifted, a shy smile coming out in earnest this time. "They just stuck around. Which is why I came to you. I just wanted to see you, see that you were as different as they said you’d be, but then… I saw that you ran this place, and… I thought you could help."

Chan blinked. "You need help?" he asked hoarsely. "You want them gone?" It was the first he had spoken since Woojin had entered the room, and Woojin felt himself relax. He had thought, for a moment, that Chan would shut down, lose every moment of progress he had made over the past weeks. He still seemed dazed, Woojin thought, but there were worse things.

Jeongin shook his head. "No, I don't. I want... I want them  _ happy _ ." His gaze dropped to the floor. "Seungmin… he left, for a while. And now neither of them will talk to me properly. Or each other, really. I don't know what I've done to upset them."

"I can't work off something that vague," Chan said apologetically. "I wish I could help. I owe you that." His fingers twitched around Woojin's hand, and his eyes held a strange, haunted look; Woojin got the impression that Jeongin could ask Chan to jump off a bridge and he'd do it. He held his hand a little tighter. "I can give you something to encourage honesty, but that's the best I have."

Jeongin bit his lip. He was so young, Woojin realised, and so scared; his nightmares had been so awful, so full of horror, that Heaven had sent two angels down to him. But there was a spark in him, despite his innocence, something bright and sharp as diamond; Woojin could see that he was the type for Hyunjin and Seungmin to get attached to.

"It wouldn't- it wouldn't force them to talk, would it?"

Chan shook his head. "Like I said, it would just encourage them. It would work on you, too. Anyone close by."

Jeongin nodded slowly. "Ok," he said. "I'll take it. I just-" he broke off, looking as though he might cry. "I want to know what's going on."

"Hyunjin and Seungmin can be stubborn," Woojin told him as Chan released his hand to pour powder and herbs into a small paper bag, along with written instructions for how to use the spell. "But they'll come through in the end."

Jeongin nodded, taking the packet from Chan. Chan kept his distance, Woojin noticed, avoiding even the slightest contact as he passed him the spell, and Jeongin still didn’t meet his eyes. Chan shook his head frantically when Jeongin pulled out his wallet, and Jeongin slowly returned it to his pocket.

"You know Felix, don’t you?," Jeongin asked as he hovered by the counter. “He said a friend of his was running a place like this.”

"You- yes. We’ve been friends for a long time."

Jeongin nodded slowly. "Don’t tell him about what happened, ok? Not that I was involved, at least."

"Of course," Chan agreed immediately. His gaze was hovering on the scar at Jeongin’s throat, Woojin realised, and he took Chan’s hand again. "Of course I won’t."

"Ok," Jeongin said softly. "Thanks." He headed for the door, slipping the little packet into his pocket. "I… I forgive you for it," he said eventually, and Chan froze. "I didn’t know if I’d be able to. But you really weren’t yourself, were you?"

"No," Chan said softly, and Woojin squeezed his hand. "I suppose I wasn’t." Jeongin smiled softly, offering them each a slight nod, and walked away without another word. As the door began to close, Woojin felt Chan's knees buckle and he crouched to catch him, lowering him down gently as the door clicked shut. Chan sat with his head between his knees, crying softly, and Woojin stroked his hair, waiting for it to pass.

"That wasn't real," Chan whispered eventually. "That can't have been real."

"It was. He was here. He forgives you," Woojin told him.

"He forgives me," Chan repeated softly. He made no move to stand, staring at the wall, so Woojin carefully slid his arms around him and lifted him to his feet. Chan buried his face in Woojin's neck, arms wrapping around his waist, and sensing that he needed the contact, Woojin just held him until Chan's breath washed over his neck in a sigh.

"I hope it works," he said quietly. "The spell."

"I think it will," Woojin reassured him. "You made it, after all."

"Where do we go from here?" Chan asked as though he hadn't heard him. "I don't know what to do."

Gently, Woojin kissed the top of his head. "You can close up. It's nearly four, anyway, and I think you need some rest after that."

The afternoon and evening passed in a haze of vague, fitful sleep, Woojin holding Chan close and feeling the rhythm of his breath against his skin, listening to every faint murmur he gave in his dreams. It was dark outside by the time Chan awoke properly, curling his fingers into Woojin's hair to kiss him slowly.

"Tell me again," he whispered against Woojin's lips, shifting closer.

"Tell you what?"

"That this is real."

"It is. It's real."

"All of it?"

Woojin leaned back a little so he could look Chan in the eyes. "All of it. You have the shop, which is going beautifully, and you have Felix. Jeongin forgives you. I forgave you long ago." He hesitated a little, watching the light play in Chan’s eyes. "And I love you, Chan."

Chan's eyes widened, the words settling in the slivers of space between them. After a moment, Woojin felt him relax, leaning in to kiss him again. "I love you, too," he said, and Woojin felt his heart soar at the words. He pulled Chan closer to him, kissed him harder. Chan hadn't undressed before he had fallen asleep, so Woojin fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, pressing a soft kiss to the flat of his sternum before his hands fell to the zip of his jeans. Chan gasped at the icy brush of the air on his skin, fingertips pressing into Woojin's shoulder.

"You're sure?" he asked.

Woojin kissed his skin, a gentle brush of his mouth against Chan's ribs. "I'm sure," he replied.

"I love you," Chan whispered again

"I love you, too. I always will." Chan pulled Woojin gently back up the bed, letting out a sound that Woojin thought he could get drunk on as they kissed, and then there was only the warmth of planes and curves of skin between them.

* * *

The next morning, the floor around the bed was littered with white feathers. Woojin's wings  _ itched _ , and he shifted uncomfortably in an attempt to dispel the feeling. The movement made the mattress shift beneath Chan and he sat up, the sheet pooling around his hips as he struggled to open his eyes. His hand fell on a feather and he frowned, holding it close to his face.

"This is starting sooner than I imagined," Woojin said lightly as he watched Chan's eyes widen.

"You're- already? I thought you'd have more time, I-"

"I know."

Chan swallowed, turning the feather over and over. "This is it, then," he said softly. "No going back."

"No," Woojin agreed. "No going back." His hand fell on Chan's, stilling its motion, and the moment hearkened back to Woojin pulling Chan's hands from his hair, holding him close to a bruised and battered chest, unable to wrap his broken wings around them. "I don't regret it," he said. "Just so you know."

"You chose this," Chan said, more to himself than Woojin. "You wanted this."

"I did." Woojin said, pressing a kiss to Chan's knuckles. Chan met his eyes with an expression that made him shiver, and he wondered if Chan was remembering Woojin's mouth against the sheen of sweat on his skin, whispering his name over and over in tones of broken reverence.

"Do you know what happens now?" Chan asked. Woojin shook his head.

"No idea. I never knew an angel who Fell."

"Then I suppose we wait."

"I suppose we do."

* * *

The feathers kept falling. Chan took to sweeping them up while Woojin tried to soothe the infernal itch of his wings, soaking the remaining feathers in as much oil as he could to clean them. Nothing seemed to work, and Chan watched in distress as he paced, unable to settle. Woojin offered him a brittle smile.

"This can't last more than another day. Not at the rate they're falling out."

Chan sighed, eyes flitting over Woojin's wings and the gaping holes where feathers had disappeared. "What then?" he murmured. Woojin shrugged, the motion dislodging yet more feathers. He watched them flutter to the ground.

"I really don't know."

"I've closed up the shop for a few days," Chan told him. "I don't want to be running up and down the stairs when you're like this."

Woojin reached for his hands, enjoying the comfort of Chan's palms against his own. "Thank you. I'm sure it won't last long."

"Let's hope so."

Chan spent the rest of the day flicking through every book on angels he owned, occasionally muttering to himself as he examined illustrations drawn in faded ink, grotesque in the way medieval illustrations so often were.

"There's almost nothing on Falling," he sighed, rubbing his eyes as the twilight drew in. "This is the book that told me how to call you down so I thought it would have  _ something _ , but... nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Woojin kissed his temple, ignoring the whisper of more feathers hitting the floor as he leaned into Chan's space. "It's ok. We don't even know if anything bad will happen. Come and get some sleep."

Chan glanced up, surprised at the dim blue of the light outside. "Is it that late?"

"Mm."

"One more chapter? I just... I want to make sure you'll be ok."

Woojin sighed. "I know,” he said fondly.

"I love you," he heard Chan say as his head hit the pillow, but sleep took hold before he could reply.

* * *

"Woojin? Oh god, Woojin, wake up,  _ please _ wake up."

Chan's voice rang in Woojin's ears, pulling him from sleep as though it were something sticky, something that clung. His words seemed distant somehow, hazy and blurred despite the fact that he could hear them clearly. Woojin tried to push himself up, to tell Chan everything was fine, but the mattress was slippery beneath his hands and he fell back onto the pillow. He felt something wet beneath his chest, and he turned his head, achingly slow, to see what was wrong.

The bed around him was drenched in red. The sheets were stained like velvet with it, some gross mockery of opulence, and Woojin could hear the steady drip of blood against the floor.

"Shit, Woojin,  _ shit _ , look at me. Please, look at me, Woojin!" Woojin forced his eyes open, a blurred image of Chan before him. Gradually, he came into focus, panic in every minutia of his expression.  "Oh, thank God, ok. I don't- I don't know how to stop the bleeding, Woojin, it won't  _ stop _ ." Woojin frowned. Bleeding? Was it him? Was he the source of all this red, pooling on the floor, soaking their bed, coating Chan's hands and running down his wrists?

"Woojin!" He dragged his gaze back to Chan.

"'m I... bleeding?"

"Yes, you're bleeding! Your wings, they..." Chan faltered, falling silent and stepping slightly to the side so that Woojin could see behind him. On the floor, in a steadily growing pool of blood, lay a vast, skeletal wing. Woojin heard himself cry out faintly, tried to turn around so that he could see the damage, see the jagged end of bone left behind in his back, but all he succeeded in doing was sending a new wave of dizziness through his head and he fell to the pillow again, narrowly avoiding contact between his forehead and the headboard.

"I- I'll get more bandages, I-  _ shit _ ." Chan disappeared up the stairs, leaving bloody handprints on the banister and the wall, and Woojin cried softly, turning his head to see his other wing lying half across the bed, broken end raw and red.

"Ok, let me bandage them again," Chan said frantically when he hurtled back down the stairs. He was pale and drawn, smears of Woojin's blood in his hair where he had run his hands back through it in a panic. "This is going to hurt."

Woojin hadn't even realised Chan had bandaged his back at all, and the reason became apparent when Chan peeled the old dressings away. They were so soaked in red that they were all but useless, and the wet sound they made when they hit the floor made Chan wince.

"Ok. I'm sorry," he said as he poured clean water over the ends of the bone. The cold of it made Woojin scream, muffled by the pillow, and tears began to run down Chan's face. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I don't know how to fix it, I'm  _ sorry _ ." The pain when he pressed the clean bandages into place was too much, and Woojin watched the world go dark all over again.

* * *

He woke in snapshots after that. Chan, hunched over the table, crying over a book. The steady drip, drip, drip of his blood against the floor. Pain as fresh bandages were pressed to his back.

"I can't do it," he thought he heard Chan say. "I can't, I  _ can't _ ."

_ Shh, _ he wanted to say.  _ Whatever it is, I know you can.  _ But his voice was lost to him, words heavy in his throat.

* * *

The next thing that woke him was a pain so bright it blinded. Woojin could feel himself screaming, limbs thrashing without control in an attempt to make it  _ stop _ and then Chan was sobbing, telling him to hold still but it  _ hurt _ and the smell of smoke and blood and roses was everywhere.

"It's ok, that's one done, it won't bleed anymore," Chan was saying. Woojin could feel his hands, brushing his hair back from his forehead where it clung with sweat. "I have to do the other one now, I'm sorry, just hold still, ok? It won't take long and then you'll be ok, I  _ promise _ ."

Woojin didn't have time to reply before it started again. He did his best to hold still but every nerve screamed at him to  _ move _ , pull away from the fire at his back until, little by little, it went numb.

He watched through half-open eyes as Chan sat down heavily, a metal blade clattering to the floor beside him. He was crying, desperate, heaving sobs that tore out of him like his lungs were breaking apart. Woojin let his arm fall from the mattress so it hung beside him. It was the closest he could get to reaching for him. Chan took his hand, sticky with half-dried blood, as though it were a lifeline.

"'m ok," Woojin mumbled. "Not going."

"I know," Chan said through his sobs. "I know."

"'p here," Woojin tried to ask. "Cold." Chan seemed to understand what he meant, but he shook his head in horror.

"I can't Woojin. I haven't cleaned up, I- I can't." Woojin frowned, remembering the endless red soaking the sheets, bandage after bandage covered in it.

"'k," he said. His eyelids were growing heavier and heavier, the pain no longer forcing him awake. "Stay."

"I will," he heard Chan say. "I will."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Today, it is exactly one year to the day since I first came home from my friend's house at midnight and set up the google doc for this story, so it feels good to be posting the final chapter now. Thank you so much for reading, especially those of you who left comments and kudos! I hope this ending satisfies you.
> 
> I'll be posting the next work in this series, Lessons from Daedalus, as soon as I've split it into chapters and done one final round of edits. The posting schedule will most likely be a little more regular, since it hit me that I have four works to get through and that will take me quite a while at this current pace.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading, and I hope this ending leaves you feeling warm <3

When Woojin awoke, it wasn't in the basement. His head spun for a moment, disoriented, before he realised he was upstairs in Chan’s room, the bookshelves sitting in his periphery. He must be in the bed Chan had bought all those weeks ago, he thought. He shifted, feeling the cling of bandages around his waist but no pain, and tried to rise to his knees. He promptly fell forwards again, his balance off, but hands caught him gently by the shoulders and lowered him back down.

"Hey, slow down." Felix. When had Felix got here? "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Woojin said. "I just can't sit up." His voice shook, and he felt Felix rub soothing circles on his shoulder. "Where's Chan?"

"He's taking a shower," Felix told him, crouching so they could talk face to face. He looked tired, Woojin thought. "He hadn't taken a break from looking after you in about four days, so I kind of forced him."

Woojin smiled tiredly. "Thank you," he said. "He's lucky to have you."

"He, uh... he told me everything," Felix said slowly, avoiding his gaze. "About... this, and how you guys met."

"I told him you'd stick around," Woojin murmured happily.

"It wasn't really him, right?"

"It wasn't. He's so different, now."

"Woojin?" Chan's voice came from the doorway, hesitant and hopeful, and Woojin tried again to sit up so he could see him. "Woah, be careful." Chan was closer now, holding Woojin gently in his arms so that he wouldn't fall. His hair was wet, and he looked even more exhausted than Felix, the shadows under his eyes as heavy as bruises.

"What happened?" Woojin asked. "I don't really remember."

Chan let out a shuddering breath. "Your wings, they just... broke off. The bone snapped in the middle of the night and they wouldn't stop  _ bleeding _ ." Horror touched his tone, and Woojin wished he could comfort him. "It took me more than a day to find something in the books that worked." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You almost bled out. I thought you were going to die." Woojin remembered, then, the endless red soaking the sheets and his skin and the floor.

"I had to... I had to cauterise the bone," Chan explained shakily. "Soak it in rosewater and then just...  _ burn  _ it. God, I felt  _ sick.  _ I could smell it and you kept  _ screaming- _ " he broke off for a moment, closing his eyes. "But it worked. Felix came into the shop while I was cleaning up all the- all the blood, and he helped me carry you up here. I couldn't leave you down there."

"Are the bandages ready to come off?" Woojin asked softly. "I want to see."

"Ok," Chan said. "I'll need you to sit up a bit more for me. I'll help, don't worry." Slowly, Woojin leaned backwards, feeling one of Chan's hands move to wrap around his waist and hold him steady so he didn't pitch forwards again. Felix helped, bracing his hands on Woojin's shoulders as Chan unwound the bandages.

"It might take a while for you to get used to balancing without your wings," Chan explained. "I'll do my best to help."

"I know you will,” Woojin said, reaching to squeeze his hand as the last of the bandages fell away. "Help me up?" Carefully, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, letting Chan pull him to his feet while Felix hovered behind, hands slightly outstretched. Woojin fell against Chan instantly, used to compensating for the weight of bone and feathers at his back. Chan pushed him back gently until he was upright, letting Woojin grip his forearms to keep himself there. Little by little, the two of them stumbled towards the mirror so that Woojin could peer over his shoulder to see his reflection.

He said nothing at the sight of two reddened juts of bone protruding from his back. There was nothing he could say. It just looked  _ wrong _ , as though it were a trick, an illusion edited onto a photograph. Each one was around an inch and a half in diameter and a few centimetres long, the flattened ends the ugly red of healing burns. Carefully, he let go of one of Chan's arms to reach around and brush them gently with his fingertips. They were numb, nerve endings blackened and dead, and the feeling of them beneath his hands made Woojin feel a little sick. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of them.

"Are you ok?" Chan asked.

"Yeah," Woojin said quickly. "I just- I can't process them. I'll get used to it." He sighed, attempting a smile and failing. "Where are my wings?"

"Down in the basement. I didn't know what you wanted to do with them."

Woojin hesitated. "I don't know either," he admitted softly. "I don't want to see them yet."

Chan nodded, apparently not knowing what to say. In silence, he guided Woojin back to the bed and sat down beside him, holding his hand. The small gesture of comfort broke something in Woojin, and before he could process it he was crying, shaking with sobs as Chan stroked his hair.

"I'll- I'll make some tea," Felix muttered, hurrying from the room.

"I'm not sad," Woojin managed to say through the tears once the two of them were alone. "I'm not unhappy, I just-"

"I know," Chan murmured, and Woojin could hear the guilt even in those two small words. It would never fade, he thought. No matter how long the two of them were happy, Chan would always mourn the life Woojin might have lived. He would do his best to change that, Woojin decided. He would show Chan that no matter what, he was so very loved, and the fact that he loved in return was all Woojin needed. After all, what were endless years compared to that?

* * *

It took almost a week for Woojin to learn to walk properly again. Chan was endlessly patient, walking him round and round the bedroom on weekends, leaving Felix to mind the shop if Woojin shouted from upstairs that he had fallen during the working day.

"His boyfriend was in an accident," he would explain as Chan shot out of the room. "He's just come out of physical therapy, but he's still not steady on his feet." People were often sympathetic after that, and gave Woojin gentle, pitying smiles on the rare occasion he made it downstairs into the shop. That was new, too; Woojin had never been able to stay in the shop when there were customers present, but now he often sat behind the counter, making small talk with Felix’s new boyfriend, Changbin, when he brought Felix and Chan lunch, or helping Chan search for the right book or ingredient.

"You put people at ease," Chan told him as another customer left with a smile. "Must be an angel thing." Woojin smiled sadly at that.

"I'm not an angel anymore," he reminded him gently.

"You'll always be an angel to me," Chan whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as a group of girls entered the shop. Two of them cooed over the interaction, and Woojin laughed as a blush rose up Chan's neck.

Eventually, once Woojin was able to manage the stairs alone, he snuck down to the basement while Chan slept. The room had been thoroughly cleaned, and the faintest scent of bleach still hung in the air. On the stripped bed lay a large square of cloth, folded in on itself to form a kind of parcel; Woojin held his breath as he unwrapped it, feeling tears prickle in the corners of his eyes at the first sight of his wings lying folded in the cloth, nothing more than long juts of bone. He thought he felt their weight as a phantom at his back, taking him off balance, and he knelt heavily, concrete bruising his knees.

Gently, he ran his fingers over the hollow bones; they were as cold as the air around them, and despite their size they felt as fragile as ice over a puddle.

That was how Chan found him, dawn having broken through the dark, kneeling beside the bed in silent wonderment. He stood at the foot of the stairs, unwilling to fully enter the room.

"Can we bury them?" Woojin asked. "Is there anywhere nearby?"

"There are some woods a few miles west," Chan replied, words small in the vastness of the space. "We could do it there."

"Ok," Woojin agreed. "We'll do it there."

* * *

A few days later, Chan carefully moved the bones to the back of his car, and he and Woojin drove out of the city at dawn. It felt odd that this was to be Woojin's first excursion outside in weeks. As restless as he had been, he hadn't felt ready to face the human world and all its complexities, so he had remained in the shop or the flat upstairs when Chan needed to leave to gather ingredients or buy groceries. He was still buying for one; despite everything, Woojin still didn't seem to need to eat. Chan had been kind enough to buy him some clothes that fit well enough for now, waiting for a day where Woojin felt brave enough to venture out to buy his own.

"How's this for your first trip out?" Chan asked as the buildings shot by, endless shades of grey set alight by reflections of the sunrise on windows.

"I like it," Woojin said. "I'm glad we're going somewhere green, though."

Chan only hummed in response, and Woojin watched the city slip away, replaced by fields tucked behind old stone walls, roads lined with bustling hedgerows instead of pavements.

Chan pulled into a patch of clear ground that could loosely be called a car park, quickly running around to Woojin's side of the car to help him out. Woojin couldn't help but smile at that; he was quite capable of moving by himself now, but every new situation seemed to make Chan nervous. Woojin didn't mind accepting the help.

Chan bore his wings through the woods, leaving Woojin to carry the shovel they had brought along. It was a beautiful autumn day, the air scented softly with the sweet mustiness of rot and the leaves fluttering to showcase newly gilded edges. The trees seemed to sigh as they passed, bending towards the two of them until their branches brushed Woojin's shoulders like a blessing. Perhaps they were mourning, he thought. Grieving for a fallen member of the Host.

The clearing Chan brought him to had a pleasant feeling to it; it felt kind, Woojin thought, as though good things had happened there over the years. The ground was soft and the trees tall, the sun filtering down and turning the ground to molten gold. Woojin sighed and tipped his head back, letting it warm his skin.

Chan was staring at him when he opened his eyes, expression gentle.

"What?" he asked.

"You're just beautiful," Chan told him.

"What, no 'sort of' this time?" Woojin asked teasingly.

Chan laughed. "No, no 'sort of'." He gestured to the clearing. "Is this ok?"

"It's perfect," Woojin replied. Carefully, Chan laid his wings down, reaching for the shovel. He refused to let Woojin help him dig, so he lay on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky. He had never been able to do that before, the press of his weight on his wings just a little too uncomfortable. He could feel the bones protruding from his back pressing against the ground, but they weren't long enough that it bothered him. It just felt a little strange. A little new.

"Ok," Chan said eventually, sounding out of breath. "I think that's deep enough." Woojin sat up to see Chan climbing out of a hole around half his own height, wide enough to fit Woojin's folded wings. There was dirt smeared up his forearms, and sweat on his brow. "Do you want to do it?" he asked. Woojin nodded. It felt right.

Laying the shovel down, Chan carefully unwrapped Woojin's wings. One at a time, he handed over the bones, and Woojin laid them in the ground. They looked so fragile there, so out of place in the dirt, and Woojin felt Chan's hand settle in the space between his shoulder blades in a gesture of comfort.

"You ready?"

"I think so." Slowly, Chan took up a handful of dirt from the pile and threw it over the bones, watching it scatter to dust. Woojin shot him a questioning look.

"It's a human funeral thing," he explained. "Everyone throws a handful of soil in before the grave is filled in properly." Woojin nodded slowly, following Chan's example, and the soil clung to the lines of his palm even after it was gone.

Once the patter of the soil had faded, Chan lifted the shovel again and began pouring the dirt back in, panting a little as he did so. Woojin watched as it covered the bones, settling between them and staining them grey before it covered them completely. The sadness was less than he had thought it would be; perhaps he was simply overjoyed to be out among the trees, or perhaps there was very little to mourn for. He had been content as an angel, but happiness, real happiness - watching the sunlight fall over Chan's skin in the mornings, listening to the stories of the shop's customers, kisses and soft touches shared in the dark - had been lost to him. Even as the last jut of bone was covered by the soil, Woojin decided that he would choose this a thousand times over.

Once the grave was full, Chan reached into his pocket, handing Woojin a small cloth bag. "Wildflower seeds," he explained when Woojin peered inside. "I thought you might want to make something grow." Woojin gazed at him with such fondness that he had to look away, a blush blooming in his cheeks. Gently, Woojin scattered the seeds, wishing as much life to them as he could. He didn’t know if that would work anymore, but it was worth a try.

"We can come back," Chan said. "Once they've bloomed."

Woojin turned to him with a smile, heart humming in his chest. "Let's do that," he agreed, reaching for Chan's hands. "Let's come back and plant more every year. Let's come here in summer, and winter, no matter the weather." He leaned in close, pressing his forehead to Chan's. "Let's come here when we're old and grey, and we've lived all our years together."

Chan beamed, closing the distance to kiss him. It was a kiss that held promises, and made Woojin feel as though the sun could shine through into his blood and make it sing. "Let's do that," he confirmed.

And they did.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more of my work, and some of the thought processes behind it, come and say hi on my shiny new (very green) tumblr! You can find me under nettlestingsoup just like you can here, and I'll be posting about stray kids, writing, and maybe the odd snippet of unpublished AUs or hints as to what I'll be posting next. I hope to see you there! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [oak, broom, and meadowsweet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900880) by [Sara_Kain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Kain/pseuds/Sara_Kain)




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